Guardian
by Jalos
Summary: Four survivors are stranded and fighting for their lives in a deserted, zombie-filled city. When one develops feelings toward another, how far will he go to protect her? How far will she go to protect him? Zoey x Francis, T for blood and language
1. My Companion

I sat huddled and alone, my dad's old rifle clutched to my chest, shivering. My sweatshirt, originally bright red verging on pink, had been stained a much darker red by the blood splattered across its front, none of it mine. This shouldn't – couldn't – be happening. It was like some sort of bad dream, a sick joke played on me by the universe because of all those bad horror movies I'd watched. A creak sounded in the corridor outside my room, and I launched to my feet, rifle snapping up to firing position in trembling hands. /Dammit, get a grip, girl,/ I chided myself. Taking a deep breath, I pulled the bolt back on the rifle, feeling it latch into place. My door, barricaded with my desk and a chair that I had managed to haul over and jamb into place, throbbed as someone – no, some/thing/ -- slammed into it. The lights flickered, and I slowly backed away from the door, taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. The door shook again, and an inhuman gurgling growl sounded from the other side of it, slightly muffled by the thick wood.

Then, suddenly, the thunderous report of a large-caliber weapon boomed out, and the growl was cut off short, leaving only silence. "Hello?" I said, lowering the rifle a little and doing my best to keep a quaver out of my voice. The doorknob rattled, and a deep, gruff voice growled "Damn it, let me in before I break this door."

Lurching forward as if snapped out of a trance, I quickly moved the chair aside, then dragged the desk out of the way with a grunt of effort. No sooner had I removed the obstructions than the door banged open to reveal a figure that almost filled it. Standing a good head taller than me, he sported a white sleeveless shirt and black leather vest hung over his powerful frame, tattoos scrawled across almost every inch of bulging muscle. His head was clean-shaven save for a thin layer of light brown fuzz, and his thick jaw bore a scraggly goatee. His lips were curled up in a feral smile, and a big-bore pump-action shotgun was held casually in his gloved hands. "Hey, doll," he said, shouldering the shotgun and grinning as if this sort of thing happened to him every day. "Who… who are you?" I said, taking a step away from the imposing figure. "Introductions can come later, girlie," he growled, and nodded his head towards the hallway. "Now, 'less you're plannin' on spendin' the rest of the night here, we'd better get goin'." I nodded, too scared by both the situation and this huge newcomer to object to his names for me. "Good," he said curtly, turning and starting to walk off. Rushing to follow him and glancing around at what remained of my college dorm, I swallowed hard. It was going to be a long night.

"Home sweet home," the big man growled sarcastically as he shouldered his way through the door into the 'safe room.' Following him, I remembered seeing something on the news about them a few days before, sanctuaries put up by the government so that survivors – like us – would have a place to go that wasn't filled with bloodthirsty zombies. Waiting until after I'd passed him, my newfound companion slammed the door and shoved the bar into place, then turned and looked at me with a lopsided grin. "Now, girlie, is time for introductions," he said, and plopped down nonchalantly in a nearby folding chair, extracting a knife as long as my forearm from his boot and cleaning it on a spare shirt that he'd snatched from a dead body not two minutes ago. Looking up from his task, he growled "You got a name?" Clearing my throat, I managed "Zoey." He nodded, then gave me a wry smile and said "Zoey it is. I bet you were getting' tired of me callin' ya girlie all the time, huh?" Extending a muscle-bound arm, he said "Name's Francis. Pleasure to meetcha, Zoey."

Dubiously taking the hand, I winced at Francis's iron grip as we shook. Extracting my hand, I glanced over and took notice of the armaments strewn about the room. "Yours?" I said, motioning to the pile of guns and ammo. Francis gave a grim chuckle, and said "Nope. These," he tapped the shotgun at his feet with the blade of his knife, indicating both of them, "are the only weapons I need. Take yer pick, if you like." Standing up and walking over, I examined one gun after another. Not being much of a weapons expert, I couldn't tell much about them from their looks, so I took a sub-machine gun and stuffed several clips for it into my pockets, discarding the old rifle with a muttered "Sorry, dad."

That was when it hit me: whatever shit had gotten hold of Pennsylvania had most likely spread to Ohio too, which was where my family lived. Images of my mom, my dad, and my little brother Johnny crept into my head, and I stubbornly bit back tears as it sunk in that they were probably all dead or worse. Only one out of God-knows-how-many were naturally immune to this damn virus, and the odds of two immunes in the same family were miniscule at best. Despite my best efforts, the tears came anyway, unbidden and unwelcome. I heard the rhythmic grinding of Francis sharpening his knife behind me suddenly stop, and I felt his gaze boring into my back. "You okay, darlin'?" he said, but with his gravelly voice it came out more like a growl, which sort of defeated the purpose of the question. Nodding wordlessly, I stripped out of my sweater and lay on the cold concrete floor, balling the garment up and stuffing it beneath my head like a pillow. Behind me I heard Francis let out an indifferent grunt, then the rhythmic grinding started up again, lulling me to sleep.

I jerked awake to the sound of a gunshot, booming out like a thunderbolt in the confined space. Whipping around, I saw Francis casually pointing his shotgun at the door and took in the grisly corpse missing a head and a good bit of its torso sliding down the door, one of its hands stuck through the bars of the window. "These goddamn vampires are persistent," Francis growled, racking the slide on his shotgun. Not bothering to correct his misclassification, I lay back down on my makeshift pillow, closing my eyes and doing my best to get to sleep again. I could hear Francis humming softly to himself, the noise occasionally punctuated by the soft clicking of bullets being slid into and out of his shotgun. I couldn't describe it, but I felt safe with this big biker watching over me. Smiling as I listened to the tune of his off-key humming, I faded away into sleep again.

**Two and a Half Weeks Later**

Opening up the fridge, I let out a little yelp of joy as my eyes were greeted by rows upon rows of stacked food. It didn't matter what was in those boxes – noodles, chicken, I was past caring – the sight of unspoiled, relatively clean food, no matter the type, was a rare treat in the apocalypse, and I relished it. "What'cha got, darlin'?" came the familiar gravelly rumble from behind me, and I turned, a box of food in each hand, grinning like a loon. Francis's eyes lit up as he saw my prize, and he abandoned the cupboard he was rifling through, vaulting over the kitchen counter to land beside me, shotgun holstered on his back.

"Do I smell burgers?" Accompanying this question, a clean-shaven black-skinned face poked in through one of the room's doors, followed by Louis's slim body, sub-machine gun held at the ready. His eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest on Francis lounging cat-like on the counter, tearing into an honest-to-god cheeseburger like a zombie tearing into human flesh. "Jesus!" Louis cried, eyes widening, as he ran over to share in our bounty. "Tell _me_ about these things, girl!" "Who's talking about burgers?" came a slightly annoyed yell from a distant room. "Come on in, join the party!" Francis boomed back, between ravenous bites. A few moments later, Bill walked into the room, the old Nam veteran's stride marred by his characteristic limp. His gaze found me, Francis and Louis eating like we were half-starved – which, in fact, we were – and the old soldier shook his head. "You know, back in Nam we'd go days at a without eating." Francis rolled his eyes, and passed me the ketchup he'd raided from a cabinet.

Well-fed at last, our little ragtag band set out again a half-hour later, backpacks stuffed to bursting with frozen ravioli, chicken nuggets, broccoli and everything else we could scavenge. Francis took point – as always – and Bill grudgingly acted as rearguard, scanning behind us with his M16 assault rifle. Walking along, I was suddenly and jarringly halted by a muscle-bound, tattoo-covered arm across my chest. "Everyone stop," Francis said in a growling whisper, and Louis and Bill obligingly came to a halt. "What is it now, Francis?" Bill said, and Francis wordlessly jerked his head to the road ahead of us, where a pale-skinned woman – or rather, what used to be a woman – sat crouched, rocking back and forth as she wept into her long, bloodstained claws. "Shit," Bill whispered, and Francis nodded. "Lights off," he hissed, as if any of us needed to be reminded of the procedure. We'd all done this a hundred times, but no one complained, merely flipping the flashlights taped to the barrels of our guns off. Scanning the area, Bill muttered "Ah, hell. No way to go around, and we can't go back." A feral grin splitting his features, Francis growled "I'll handle this. Zoey, cover my ass." Nodding, I crouched down on the rain-slick pavement to steady my aim, scanning the area with a pistol in each hand. Louis shook his head and sighed to himself as Francis prowled toward the Witch, moving surprisingly quietly for a man of his bulk. Raising her blood-red eyes, the Witch gave a surprised hiss as Francis drew near it, and the big man leveled his shotgun, the cold steel of the barrel brushing the Witch's forehead. "Screw you," Francis growled, and pulled the trigger.

With a booming report, the Witch collapsed backwards, her head exploding in a fountain of blood and brain matter as the buckshot tore it apart. Pausing to spit contemptuously on the corpse, Francis turned and waved to us, grinning. As he was facing us, he didn't see the hunter farther along the road.

"Francis!" I yelled, starting forward at a run, but the hunter was faster. Pushing off with its powerful hind legs, the animalistic Infected hurled itself at the biker, who turned just in time to see the thing collide with him in a flurry of claws and fangs. Yelling a curse as he was bowled over, Francis struggled with all his Herculean might to free himself, but his efforts were in vain. The hunter, mutated for this exact purpose, had Francis pinned with its legs straddling his torso, and it was all the biker could do to keep its razor claws from shredding him. Breaking into a sprint, I slammed into the hunter in a full shoulder-tackle, knocking it off its prey and making my shoulder throb from the impact. The hunter fixed me with its stare, and its bloodstained jaws parted in an animal snarl as it curled its legs beneath it, preparing to pounce again. I raised my pistols to end the foul creature's life, but Francis was faster. The sound of his shogun's slide racking was all the warning the hunter had before it was torn apart by a hail of buckshot at point-blank range. The corpse fell backwards, still twitching, and I turned to see Francis laying on the ground, shotgun leveled, a clearly forced smile on his face. "Thanks, Zoey," he managed to get out through gritted teeth, and I knelt to inspect the damage. The hunter had ripped a good bit of flesh from his chest and gut – which were both bleeding profusely – but the lethal talons had fortunately missed any vital organs. "Come on," I said, forcing down the near-panic I felt every time Francis had one of his all-too-frequent brushes with death and offering my hand to the wounded biker. "I'll get you back up and moving in no time." Grunting with exertion and pain as he took the hand and hauled himself to his feet, Francis retrieved his shotgun and said "I owe ya," then turned and gave the hunter's corpse a savage kick, adding "I hate hunters."


	2. My Savior

**I'd like to give a big thank-you to all ya'll who bothered to read this, and especially to those who took the time to review it! Thanks guys an' gals, you're awesome!**

After only five minutes, it was clear that Francis wasn't going to be walking much farther without medical assistance. He had started limping, and I was walking along beside him, ready to help should it be needed. Being rather stubborn, Francis had rejected my offers of help and trudged along grimly, but I could tell that the pain was starting to get to him. His breath hissed in through gritted teeth every time he inhaled, and the tendons in his neck stood out like ropes, his jaw tightly clenched. With most of my attention focused on the big, stubborn biker, I didn't notice the smoker behind me until it was too late. The slimy, ludicrously strong tongue snaked around my torso and left arm, pinning the appendage to my body and rendering it useless. With a sharp tug, I was jerked backwards off my feet with a startled cry, and the smoker started dragging me backwards into an alley. Whipping around, Francis unhooked the pistol from his belt and started firing, limping as fast as he could towards me. Louis turned to look, and Bill tossed Francis a second pistol. Deftly catching the flying weapon, he started blasting away two-handed. One of the bullets must have found its mark, as the grip of the foul tongue slackened and the smoker burst apart in a cloud of thick, choking smoke. Gagging as the foul-smelling vapor assaulted my lungs, I painfully got to my feet, wincing as a cracked rib made its presence known. Stumbling out of the reeking cloud, I ran straight into Francis, who was in the process of entering said cloud. "You okay, darlin'?" I heard Francis say, and I simply nodded, still coughing.

That was when I heard the bloodcurdling, groundshaking bellow, a sound I'd come to know all to well. I tried to shout a warning, but the words caught in my throat, the last vestiges of the smoker's foul gas clogging my windpipe. I coughed to clear the blockage, and was about to try again, but Bill beat me to it. "TAAANK!" he yelled, opening up with his M16 at the behemoth advancing down the street. Turning, Louis whipped out his sub-machine gun and started firing, running backwards and cutting loose with a string of curses. Francis stood protectively in front of me, shotgun raised, as the tank turned and charged down the alley we stood in. Yelling "Go to hell!" Francis let the huge creature have a blast point-blank with his shotgun, the buckshot tearing a good section of the beast's chest into hamburger. Grunting in pain, the tank shoved him aside and bore down on me like a freight train. I stood frozen, rooted to the spot, staring up at the mass of bloody muscle as it charged, roaring. Its huge fist slammed into me, and my world exploded in a flash of agony as I soared backwards to land painfully on the hard blacktop. My vision swam, and I tasted the coppery tang of blood. Whimpering, I feebly attempted to crawl backwards, looking up into the face of death as the tank raised its mighty fists above its head for a crushing blow. Then, as I lay bleeding on the concrete, certain of my impending demise, I witnessed the bravest – and quite possibly stupidest – thing that I had yet seen. A battle cry that was not the tank's split the air, a completely human bellow torn from a familiar throat. The tank paused at the shout, and turned to look as Francis, armed only with his big hunting knife, slammed into the tank in a full-body tackle.

Now, Francis is easily one of the strongest men I've ever met, and I've seen him pop a zombie's head from its shoulders like popping a cork from a wine bottle. But a tank's strength is so far beyond that of any mortal man that most human minds simply couldn't grasp their terrible power. I've seen tanks pick up and hurl minivans, rip chunks of concrete from the ground with their bare hands, and smash through foot-thick concrete walls. Francis simply never stood a chance.

To his credit, he held on longer than most other men would have, his long knife jabbing down again and again, spraying tainted blood into the air as he wrenched it out, only to plunge it down again into the mass of muscle and bone beneath him with a grunt of effort. But then the tank reached up and took a hold of the biker, hurling him across the alley like someone carelessly discarding a used toy. Francis slammed against the wall of a nearby building and lay still, bloodstained knife slipping from limp fingers. "Francis!" I screamed, staring at the unmoving form.

Francis's attack had given Bill and Louis time to catch up with us, and the tank turned to chase its new prey, roaring as bullets peppered it like rain. Hauling myself painfully across the asphalt to Francis's side, I turned the biker over until he was facing me, murmuring "No… no…" My heart skipped a beat as I saw his chest rise as he took a shuddering breath. Feeling useless and not knowing what else to do, I gently shifted him until he lay with his head in my lap. He blinked open his eyes and looked up at me, surprised – but not displeased – by his position. "Hey, Zoey," he croaked, and I blinked away the tears that were starting to form at the corners of my eyes. "What the hell did you go and do that for?" I whispered, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?" Francis managed to get out, giving me a grin which quickly became a grimace. "Shit…" he said, feeling his chest and wincing. "He got me good." Unhooking the bottle of pain pills from my belt, I unscrewed the cap, shook two tablets into my hand, and pressed them to Francis's lips. Weakly accepting the pills, he dry-swallowed them with effort, and groaned in pain. "Can you walk?" I said, hearing the tank's roar trail off into a gurgling sigh, and the gunfire stop. "If I have to," Francis said with a grimace. Gently moving his head off my lap, I stood up rather painfully, wincing as my injuries flared up. I reached a hand down to Francis, who took it gratefully and hauled himself to his feet, gritting his teeth against the pain. Leaning on each other for support, we started limping towards our comrades.

As we exited the alley, we were greeted by a rather worried-looking Bill and Louis, standing near the prone, bloodied form of the tank. "Holy shit, you look worse than some of the casualties I saw back in 'Nam," Bill said, eyes widening as he took in Francis's appearance. "What in the hell happened to you?" Forcing a grin, Francis said "Nice to see you too, Gramps." Sighing and turning to me, Bill gave me a look that said 'I can see I'm going to get nothing out of that ass, can you please tell me what happened?' Giving him a weak smile, I said "Francis tackled the tank to distract it from me, and it worked, but… well, the tank did a real number on him." "You tackled a tank!?" Louis said, eyes widening and a look of mock awe written on his face. "Damn, man, you're even dumber than I thought!" "Go to hell, Louis," Francis growled and started limping forward, dragging me along with him. Louis put a hand on his chest to stop him, and said, face drained of humor, "In all seriousness, though, don't do no more stupid shit like that, 'kay? We need you alive, not crushed to paste or ripped to shreds." Disengaging himself temporarily from me, Francis shoved Louis's chest hard enough to send the skinny man stumbling backwards, and practically roared "Piss off, Louis! It goddamn well worked, didn't it!? Zoey's alive, and I don't give a shit about anything else!" So saying, he stalked off towards the safe house down the street, leaving Louis staring after him, a dumbfounded and slightly hurt expression on his face. With a cry of "Francis! Wait!" I started after him as fast as my unsteady legs would take me.

A few minutes later, I staggered into the saferoom to find Francis fumbling with a roll of gauze bandages in an attempt to patch himself up, a first-aid kit open on the table before him. His tank-top and vest had been stripped off and now lay on the chair beside him, revealing his injuries in all their hideous glory. It was enough to make me involuntarily gasp. The hunter had ripped deep, parallel gouges in his chest and gut, the gaping wounds slowly oozing a steady trickle of blood. His entire back and right side were covered in ugly bruises, and from the way he favored that side, I could tell a few ribs were broken. He glanced up at my gasp, and managed a lopsided smile. "I guess it's a good thing I'm indestructible, huh?" he said. Walking over, I took the roll of gauze from him and wordlessly took over the task, gingerly wrapping up his wounds. This close, I couldn't help but notice the thick, rippling muscles, the broad shoulders, the powerful arms as big as my thighs. Staring down at my work so Francis wouldn't see my reddening cheeks, I grimly yanked my train of thought off its rails, fearful of what I might do should it reach its destination. Determined not to be defeated, however, it regained its place firmly on its tracks and chugged along merrily as if nothing had happened. Glancing up, I took in Francis's hard, thick jaw covered with a thin coating of beard stubble, his dark, piercing brown eyes staring down into mine, his nose, possessing that unique bend that suggested it had been broken at least once. I suddenly realized that my hands had stopped their work, and Francis grinned down at me. I felt one of those big, powerful arms wrap protectively around my shoulders, and almost unconsciously one of my own arms snaked up his back to cup his head and pull it down towards mine.

A loud throat-clearing from behind me stopped the romantic scene in its tracks, and I stepped back, my arm dropping to my side, face turning beet-red. Francis looked up, took in the figure in the door, and his features hardened. Shrugging on his tank-top and vest, he walked into a corner of the saferoom and plopped down in a folding metal chair with a grunt of pain, not saying so much as hello when Louis entered. Pointedly ignoring the biker, he turned to me with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Glancing over at Francis, I saw him extract his bloodstained hunting knife from his belt – he'd hastily stuffed it inbetween the leather cord and his leg after recovering it from the alley floor – and take a few experimental passes with it, wincing as he pulled on sore muscles and broken ribs. Noticing my glance, he grinned at me, and I hurriedly looked back at Louis, face turning even redder. "Daaamn," Louis said, eyes flicking to the biker then back to me, "I look away for two seconds and you two are giving each other cow-eyes!" Francis growled something unintelligible, and I brushed past Louis and stalked into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.

After washing my hands and face in the – thank god – working sink, I sat on the floor in the corner of the small, tile-walled bathroom, my mind spinning, my knees pulled up to my chest. Part of me wanted to burst out that door and start again where Francis and I left off, and to hell with Louis watching. The other part of me was afraid. After two weeks of killing zombies, you'd think I'd have grown immune to fear, but no. Francis was big, strong, handsome and, above all, clearly infatuated with me – why else would he jump onto a tank to save me? – but he was also more than a little frightening. Images flashed into my head of him wading into a horde, hunting knife in one hand, pistol in the other. I clearly recalled the manic, shit-eating grin on his face as he slashed, the tainted blood splattering his chest and face as he drove the knife deep into infected flesh, the way he seemed to relish every moment of this hell. Shuddering, I remembered him straddling a zombie's chest, pounding it with his bare fists until its skull shattered like an overripe melon, and, hugged my knees even tighter.

It wasn't long until I heard a tentative knock at the door, and Louis's voice saying "Uh, Zoey, you okay in there, girl?" Swallowing the knot of conflicting emotions in my chest, I said "Yep, I'm fine. I'll be out in a second." "Okay," Louis said, still sounding uncertain, and I listened as his footsteps receded. Pushing myself to my feet, I took a moment to arrange my hair in the mirror, brushing the black locks into a semblance of order before pushing the door open and walking out. Louis and Bill were sitting on the couch, flipping through channels on the television – they were all static now, the signals long gone. Francis lounged catlike on the recliner in the corner of the room, a half-empty bottle of beer in his hand. He looked up as I entered the room, and a corner of his mouth tugged upwards in a smile, which quickly faded into a worried frown as he took in my appearance. Glancing down, I noticed the rather large bloodstain spreading across my sweater, and suddenly remembered my injuries, forgotten until now in the turmoil of emotions. "Well, that's not good," I said weakly, feeling faint. The room swam before my eyes, and I stumbled backwards, hand against a wall to support myself. Losing all balance, I swooned and toppled over, face-first, towards the hard concrete floor. Francis, however, was faster. Lunging from his chair like a striking cobra, beer long forgotten, he snatched me out of the air before I hit the floor, cradling me in his powerful arms. Swiping debris off one of the tables, he laid me gently on the hard, smooth surface, and tugged open the front of my sweater to expose the torn, bloodsoaked T-shirt beneath. Slinging the first-aid kit off of his back, he unzipped it with trembling hands, pulling out a bandage and a bottle of disinfectant. "This is gonna hurt like hell, darlin'," he said in an apologetic tone, and I weakly reached in the direction of the beer bottle. Grabbing it, he passed it to me and I took a generous swig as he unscrewed the cap on the disinfectant. It was warm, but the numbing affect of the alcohol was more than welcome. Reaching down, Francis gingerly dabbed at my wounds with a disinfectant-soaked bandage, and I hissed in my breath as the injuries burned like fire as the harsh chemicals seared them clean. Taking another large gulp from the bottle, I leaned back against the wall as Francis went to work.


	3. My Love

I woke with a start, lurching up into a sitting position and immediately regretting it. Biting back a virulent curse, my eyes watering from the pain, I flopped back into a prone position, my head coming to rest on… leather? Turning my head, I saw Francis's leather vest bunched up under my head, and my breath caught. In all the time I'd known him, he'd never taken the thing off except to heal himself. Even when he slept it remained hung over his frame, and it was the one possession that he seemed to treasure more than his weapons. Managing to prop myself up on my elbows without too much pain, I saw Francis himself sitting in a chair next to the table I lay on, fallen forward with his head laying on his arms, fast asleep. Louis was curled up on the sofa with a thin blanket flung over him, and Bill stood by the door, assault rifle resting on his shoulder, a lit cigarette dangling from his mouth. Taking a long drag on the cancer stick, he gave me a hard stare for a few seconds before removing the cig, blowing out a cloud of smoke, and saying "Francis must really like you, kid. He's been sitting there all night." He motioned with the steadily smoking cigarette to Francis's sleeping form, then placed it back in his mouth and said around it "He didn't move from that spot once, not even when Louis suggested taking over watching you." Looking down at the biker, I bit my lip, unsure of how to feel. Could that hulking, half-crazed, zombie-killin', beer-drinkin' bad boy biker really have a soft side? Reaching forward, I tentatively traced a line with my finger down the side of his head, along his hard jaw, feeling the rough beard stubble. He mumbled something, and I jerked my hand back as if burned. Sitting up and wiping sleep from his eyes, Francis looked around dazedly for a moment, his eyes finally coming to rest on me. His face lit up as he took in my conscious state, and he said, in a voice still slurred with the last vestiges of sleep, "Mornin', sunshine." Smiling back uneasily – and a tad embarrassedly – I managed to extract the vest from beneath my head and toss it to him. "Thanks," I said, as he caught the flying garment, and he grinned. "Any time, babe," he said, and stood up, slipping on his vest and retrieving his shotgun.

"Can you walk?" Bill said, him and Francis helping me to my feet after I'd wolfed down some of our provisions. "Sure," I said, and took a few experimental steps. Managing not to keel over, I judged myself indeed able to walk and gave what I hoped was a reassuring nod, snatching my weapons from the table. Sliding fresh clips into the pistols, I started for the door. However, Francis put a hand on my shoulder, whispered "Let me," and walked past. Neglecting to remind him that his injuries were, if anything, worse than mine, I let him pass with an inward sigh. Walking up to the safehouse door, Francis slid the bar out of the way before bringing up a foot and slamming it into the door in a kick that almost snapped the metal door off its hinges. Charging out, Francis twirled the hunting knife like a stage magician would twirl a baton, bringing the long, glinting blade upwards through the jaw of a nearby infected and into its brain. Ripping the weapon out through the unfortunate zombie's face, causing a spray of blood to splatter his chest, he brought the knife around in a lethal arc, disemboweling another nearby infected. Spinning around as three more charged him, he decapitated one with a lateral slice, sending its head rolling and bouncing away, jammed his knife into the skull of the second, and tackled the third to the ground, grabbing its head and slamming it against the asphalt, shattering the zombie's skull. Walking out behind him, Bill surveyed the carnage and sarcastically said "Having fun?" "Hell yeah," was Francis's reply as he picked himself up from the ground, tearing his knife unceremoniously from the corpse it was lodged in. Wiping the blade on the same corpse's shirt, he stuck it back through his belt and grinned at me. Wrinkling my nose as I stepped over the blood and spilled entrails, I gave Francis a reproachful look, at which he chuckled and said "Sorry, Zo. Had to blow off some steam on these vampire assholes." "Goddamn it man, they ain't vampires!" Louis said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "They're zombies!" Shrugging, Francis growled "Whatever. Makes no difference what you call these things, they die just the same."

We came out from the alley into a parking lot, full of abandoned vehicles. Half of the tall lights scattered around the asphalt field had gone out, and a few were flickering, leaving large portions of the parking lot in stygian darkness. Creeping along between the rows of cars, the empty vehicles looming up out of the darkness in ordered rows like gravestones. After a bit of a hike – the parking lot was ludicrous in size – we reached the supermarket that the lot serviced. A big red neon sign proudly proclaimed "WALTER & CO," with the 'a' and the 'r' flickering on and off. Below this, the storefront was boarded up, the plywood plastered with paperss proclaiming 'QUARANTINED' and 'AREA NOT SAFE' and 'INFECTION REPORTED IN THIS AREA.' "Huh," Francis growled, looking at one of the papers with his arms crossed. "Area not safe? No shit." Eyes widening, Louis exclaimed "Daamn, Francis, when'd you learn to read?" The big biker turned a withering glare on Louis, and all of us except Francis burst out laughing. Even the ordinarily grim Bill chuckled, and Francis wordlessly growled, turning and delivering a vicious kick to one of the plywood boards, which promptly broke in half and fell inwards, revealing the interior of the store. It was pitch black, apparently lacking power, and I inwardly shuddered at the prospect of entering that abyss. Francis stepped through the newly-made gap, shining his flashlight around at the ransacked shelves and the junk and ripped-open boxes and bags strewn across the floor. Spilled food and blood mixed to form grotesque splatters on the tiles, and a few shelves had been knocked over. "Looks safe enough," Francis said, and waved at us to follow him. I stepped through first, swallowing my fear and trusting in the protection of the big man in front of me. Louis followed, casting nervous glances over his shoulder to make sure we weren't followed, and Bill stepped in last, scanning the area with his assault rifle.

"Hey! Look, they've got-…" "_Francis don't!_" Bill yelled, cutting Francis off and starting forward desperately toward the biker. However, it was too late. Francis tore open the freezer door, oblivious to the little blinking light on the door that told him the security system was turned on. "God_damn_ it, Francis!" Bill cursed, pointing an accusing figure at the massive biker as Francis turned, a six-pack of beer in each hand, a grin on his face. Bill was about to say something else, but his words were drowned out as a klaxon started blaring, and Francis's grin broadened. "Watch these for me," he said, setting the beer down and unsheathing his shotgun. Even above the wailing of the alarm, I heard the chorus of countless howls that told us we had attracted unwanted attention. _Well, mostly unwanted, _I mentally corrected myself, glancing at Francis as he flipped his knife up into the air, letting it spin for a few seconds before deftly catching it by the blade and hurling it forward, directly into the face of the first infected to come near us. "Hell yeah, three points!" he boomed, turning and letting another have a blast with his shotgun. Shaking his head, Bill opened fire, and from the adjacent aisle I heard Louis cutting loose with a long string of obscenities, accompanied by the chattering of his SMG. Extracting my twin pistols from my hip-holsters, I crouched down to steady my aim and blasted away.

Soon, all of us were running low on bullets, I had earned a fresh cut on my forehead that bled freely and rendered my left eye all but useless as blood trickled into it, and Bill was cursing out Francis, had been doing so for well over a minute, and showed no signs of stopping. I fired off my last round, catching a zombie in the head and sending it down, and reached down for a clip only to find my pockets empty. _Shit._ As if sensing my helplessness, a flood of infected poured down the aisle toward me, and I backed into the freezer doors, heart hammering in my chest. My legs gave out from a combination of exhaustion and terror, and I stared up into the swarm coming steadily closer to me, bottomless hunger and fathomless rage etched on their faces. And then they all stopped as another loud beeping started up, which temporarily annoyed me, as the store's alarm had only recently died away, and I was enjoying the relative quiet. Turning to the sound of the noise, my eyes widened as I saw Francis, having recovered his knife, standing a ways to my right, an unlit pipe bomb held in his free hand. "Bill, get her out of here! I'll meet you at the Burger Tank across the street!" Nodding wordlessly and snapping a salute to the biker, Bill scooped me up and started running. It was only then that my poor overtaxed brain realized what Francis was doing. "Francis no!" I screamed, writhing in Bill's arms. "Jesus, girl, settle down! Do you want me to drop you!?" Bill growled, but didn't stop running. "Take me back! _Take me back!_" I wailed, twisting around and straining to get a look behind us. I could hear Francis bellowing at the top of his powerful lungs "Come on! You bastards want some of this!? I got enough for all of you, come on! Who's hungry!?" My throat felt tight. Tears stung my eyes. "No…" my voice had died, now little more than a piteous whimper, and Bill gruffly said "He'll be fine." He and I both knew he was lying through his teeth. Francis was Francis, true, but not even he could stand alone against that many zombies. There was no way the 'indestructible' biker was making it through this. Burying my face in Bill's shoulder, I broke down in wracking sobs that shook my entire body. "I'm sorry…" I whispered, as if Francis could hear me. "I'm sorry for doubting you…" As if in response, Francis boomed "That all you got, you goddamn vampires!? I could do this all day!"

The Burger Tank was a good choice of landmark. The fifty-food billboard was not only lighted, blazing forth like a torch against the night sky, but it slowly spun around and around, giving it a striking resemblance to a lighthouse. Louis went in at a sprint, only pausing to rest when he was safely behind the counter, where he slumped down to sit on the floor, panting. Bill tenderly sat me at one of the booths, and walked to stand beside Louis, leaving me alone, still bawling my eyes out. It really is true what the song says: you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone. A scant few hours ago, I had been doubting my attraction to Francis, doubting his sanity, doubting the truth of his love. And now it was too late. Burying my face in my hands, I lay down on the booth, curling into a ball and giving voice to my agony, grief and remorse. How I managed to fall asleep, I will never know, but I did.

_I blinked open my eyes to reveal my bedroom in my parents' house, back before the apocalypse started. Sitting up, I realized I was stark naked, and pulled the sheets up around me to cover myself. Walking to the window, garbed only in my blanket, I pulled open the drapes to reveal a street full of zombies. Letting out a little yelp of fear, I stumbled backwards and into some new obstacle that had been placed in my room. A muscle-bound, tattoo-covered arm wrapped lovingly around my shoulders, and a familiar gravelly voice said "Shh, it's okay, darlin'. I'm here. I won't let 'em getcha." Turning, I wildly embraced Francis, smothering my tear-streaked face with his familiar scent. I knew this was a dream, but I didn't care. Repeating his name over and over, I hugged him tightly, never wanting to let go. His hand brushed through my hair, surprisingly tenderly for a man of his strength. "Wake up," he said, but it wasn't his voice. It was Bill's. "Wake up," the Bill-Francis repeated._

"Wake up! Come on, girl, you gotta wake up!" Blinking open my eyes, angry at being roused from my imaginary reunion, I sat up groggily, slapping away Bill's hand. "Louis said he saw something coming our way. We need to get ready, it might be an infected." "Get ready? Get what ready, exactly?" I said, bitterness dripping from my voice, motioning to my empty pistols and lack of bullets. "Our bare hands, if we have to," Bill growled, cracking his knuckles. "Francis took on a horde by himself to save us. We'd be doing the poor bastard a disservice to die now." I had to give him that. The mention of Francis's name threatened to bring the tears back, but I furiously held them at bay. I had to be tough, for Francis's sake. Getting up from the booth, I glanced around for anything I could use as a weapon. My eyes fell on a crowbar lying in the corner of the room, and I dashed over, snatching up the crude weapon and returning to stand next to bill, who held his rifle by the barrel like a club. I could hear heavy, dragging footsteps on the sidewalk outside. A grunt of what might have been pain or anger followed, and the door was filled with a huge silhouette. I swallowed, clutching the crowbar until my knuckles whitened. The door was pushed open, and a figure stumbled in, walking unsteadily. Louis had the bright idea of turning his flashlight on and training it on the figure. I swear my heart stopped in my chest. Before us stood none other than Francis, his clothes torn, one eye swollen shut, covered from head to foot in cuts, scratches and bite marks. One leg was twisted, causing his uneven stride, and he left a trail of blood behind him. The crowbar dropped from my now-limp fingers, and my knees felt about to give out. His good eye fell on me, and Francis gave me a lopsided grin. "Hey, darlin'," he said, in a weak, pained voice. Then he collapsed.


	4. Soup and Secrets

"Francis!" I cried out, lurching forward and catching the big biker in my arms. His weight bore me down until I was sitting on the floor, cradling his powerful frame in my lap. He reached up a hand, running his thick fingers through my hair and smiling up at me. I was crying for joy, murmuring his name over and over like a chant. Reaching up, he feebly wrapped his arms around me, and I practically crushed him as I returned the hug. I kissed him then, first on the top of his head, burying my face in his buzz-cut. Then I pulled his head up, cupping his face in both hands, and assaulted his lips with mine.

After a moment that I never wanted to end, I pulled back, needing to take a breath. Francis was staring up at me, eyes twinkling even through what must have been incredible amounts of pain. Teasing a strand of my hair between two fingers, he croaked "Well… that was worth getting nearly torn to pieces." From somewhere behind us, Bill awkwardly cleared his throat, but I didn't turn to look. I was past caring about anything else. "Uh, Zoey, we should probably get Francis patched up," the 'Nam vet said, and I nodded vigorously, swallowing and wiping tears from my cheeks. I helped Francis to sit up, and leaned him against a wall, stripping his vest and tank-top off. Lingering perhaps a little too long on these actions and turning a simple procedure into a tender caress, I planted a brief kiss on his neck and pulled back, setting the biker's clothes aside as Bill went to work with his first-aid kit. Grunting in pain, Francis turned to Louis – who was still behind the counter – and growled "Hey Louie, don't suppose they got any beer back there?" Louis shook his head, and Francis spent a few moments grumbling. Bill started cleansing Francis's wounds with rubbing alcohol, and the big man's face turned pale. To his credit, though, he didn't make a sound as Bill dabbed at his countless cuts and bites, and I reached over, taking his hand and squeezing it. He squeezed back, and favored me with a lopsided grin which quickly turned into a grimace as Bill found a particularly tender spot.

Francis passed out halfway through Bill's harsh administrations, whether from pain or blood loss or a combination of the two I'm not sure. He now lay in the same spot, with a crude sheet from my backpack thrown over him, asleep. I sat next to him, my head resting on his powerful shoulder, staring off into space. I reached my hand down and twined my fingers with his, feeling the rough, calloused skin of his hands. I had come so close to losing him today. It was as if a part of me had stayed back there in the supermarket with him, and I was torn apart when I thought he was dead. Sitting there next to my Francis, my love, my world, on the cold tile floor, I vowed before all the world – or what was left of it – to never, ever let him go. I would protect him with my life, if I had to. And looking up into that thick-jawed, sleeping face, with its scars and rough beard, I knew that he would die to protect me, too. Snuggled up against this huge biker, this heavyweight killing machine, I felt safer than I ever did before. It didn't matter that we were in the middle of the zombie apocalypse: I had my Francis, and he had me, and nothing could touch us. Snuggling into him – careful not to bump his countless injuries – I let my eyes close and soon slipped into blissful, dreamless oblivion.

I woke to the sound of gunfire and cursing. My hand flashed to my hip, instinctively groping for my pistol, but my questing fingers met only my jeans and an empty holster. _Shit!_ Blinking sleep from my eyes, I lurched upright, recent injuries whimpering in protest as I strained them. Francis was nowhere to be seen, and neither was Bill or Louis. _Where the hell is everyone?_ I started to panic, looking around frantically for any sign of my companions. Then I heard Francis's gruff voice, and breathed a sigh of relief. "Die, you son of a bitch!" he growled, and I heart a wet thud followed by a choking snarl. A single gunshot boomed out like a thunderclap, a burst akin to a balloon popping was heard, and then silence fell. "Guys?" I said, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice. I heard Francis curse to himself, then call my name. A few moments later, the big man came limping through the back door of the Burger Tank, his hunting knife held in one hand, a pistol in the other. The swelling around his eye had gone down, but it still mostly obscured the glittering orb. His cuts and bruises were still starkly evident – and must have stung something fierce – but I breathed a sigh of relief as I noticed that none of them showed signs of infection. Thank god Bill's impromptu first aid had done its job. "Sorry, darlin'," Francis said, stumbling towards me and grimacing as he put weight on his injured leg. "Bill an' Louis are out lookin' for supplies. I stepped into the kitchen to get somethin' to eat, but a Smoker nabbed me and dragged me out the door." My eyes widened, and I took an almost involuntary step forward. "Are you okay?" I said, then instantly regretted the question. Giving me a look somewhere between amusement and irritation, Francis growled "Do I look okay to you, babe?" After a long, awkward pause, he added "But no, the Smoker didn't get me too bad. Good thing I had my weapons on hand." Nodding wordlessly, I tried not to imagine what would have happened if Francis had been weaponless. In his wounded state, even he would have been no match for a Smoker bare-handed.

We stood in silence for a few moments, then I slid onto a nearby booth, patting the seat beside me as an invitation for Francis to sit with me. "Thought you'd never ask," he said with a grin, and plopped down onto the booth next to me. Glancing over at him with a sly grin, I leaned into his chest, and he encircled my waist with a muscular arm, pulling me closer. Slithering up onto his lap, I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned in, planting a firm kiss on his lips. They tasted of sweat, beer and hamburgers, but I was past caring – and I knew mine probably didn't taste much better. His arms worked their way up my sides, gently caressing my shoulders and back. I was reaching up to the zipper of my sweater when I heard Louis's voice from behind us, saying "Daamn, you two, get a room!" I felt my face heat up, and I slowly extricated myself from Francis's grip. Seemingly impervious to embarrassment, Francis was still grinning, and kept an arm draped across my shoulders as I sat down beside him. Shaking his head and smiling to himself, Louis walked in, carrying a stack of cardboard boxes. He was followed by Bill, who was similarly burdened. "What did you find?" I managed to get out, looking away so they wouldn't see my face – which was roughly the color of a ripe tomato. Setting his load down, Louis pulled several items out of the top box, and said "Soup, soup, and… oh, look! More soup. Take your pick." Francis growled "Goddamn it, I hate soup." I chuckled, and got up from the booth to inspect Bill and Louis's findings. Francis gave me a mournful look as I left, and I couldn't help but grin at the sight. "I'll be back," I whispered, giving him a wink before pulling open a box and digging around inside.

That night, I lay snuggled up to Francis, the big biker's arm draped over me, feeling his hot breath against the back of my neck. We were lying on the floor, on a makeshift mattress made of a folded-open sleeping bag, with my sweater thrown over us as a crude blanket. Even in the comfort and safety of Francis's warm embrace, sleep eluded me. I lay awake, listening to the growls, roars and screams of the infected outside the Burger Tank. From somewhere behind me, I heard Francis whisper "Can't sleep?" "Yeah," I whispered back, and I felt his thick fingers trace a line down my back, sending shivers up my spine. "Neither can I," he said, and his other hand moved up to caress my bare shoulder. His touch tingled like an electric shock, and I rolled over to face him. Staring into those deep brown eyes, I trailed a hand along his chin, feeling the rough beard stubble growing there. Grinning, he pulled me into a crushing hug, and I squeezed back, burying myself in his muscular chest. He grunted softly as I brushed one of his many injuries, but he made no effort to pull away so neither did I. "Zoey?" he said, his voice barely audible. "Yes?" I whispered, pulling my head back to look up at him. "Can I tell you something… personal?" His voice was tinged with… sorrow? Was that possible? Francis? _Sorrow?_ "Sure," I said, and reached up to give him a light kiss on the cheek. "You know you can tell me anything."

Running an idle hand through my hair, he said after a pause "Before all this 'infection' shit, I had a brother. His name was Max, and he was just like me – a, tattooed badass biker boy. We were closer than best friends, and we'd go out to the bar together almost every night. Pick up girls, get plastered and wake up in the mornin' with a new tattoo on our asses, that kind of thing." Here he paused and gave a long sigh, his hand moving down to gently brush my neck. "First day of this 'apocalypse,' he came home from work – he had a job repairin' motorbikes – with a shotgun and a bleeding wound." I hissed in my breath, my eyes wide. I could see where this was going. Francis's voice actually cracked, and he had to clear his throat before continuing. "He… he had this crazy plan, said we were gonna go kick some ass. He gave me a pistol that he'd bought at the local gun store and we headed out on our bikes. We'd stopped at a bar to get a few drinks when he…" Francis paused, looked away. His hand dropped limply to his side. "When he… you know. Turned." I gave Francis a squeeze, snuggling closer to him and murmuring "I'm so sorry." He returned the embrace with enough force to crush the breath out of me, and said "He was the first goddamn vampire I ever killed. He knocked the gun out of my hand, threw me to the floor, and started trying to _eat_ me. I…" His voice dropped still further, and he finished "I beat my own brother to death with my bare hands." A lone tear dropped from his eye, rolling down his cheek and leaving a wet trail. Reaching up a hand and swiping at it furiously, he growled in a shaky voice "Goddamn it. Now I sound like a pussy, bawlin' like this. _Shit._" On the last word, he launched to his feet, disengaging from me and standing rigid, hands in his pockets, glaring off at who knew what. Standing up, I pressed myself to his back, wrapping my arms around his waist and murmuring "Shh, I'm here. I'm here." After a long silence, Francis whispered, almost reluctantly "…Thanks, Zoey. I've…" he blew out a long breath, then continued "I've never told that to anyone before. Sorry if I gushed." Smiling, I whispered "Don't worry. You'll always be a badass to me."


	5. In the Name of Food

"Francis, is it really wise for you to be up and moving so soon?" Bill was saying as I blinked my eyes open. Fighting against the haze of sleep, I pushed myself into a sitting position, taking in the old 'Nam vet standing in front of the big biker, who was glaring down at the older man. Francis folded his arms over his chest, and said "Outta the way, old man. I'm goddamn hungry, and these _god damn_ boxes of frozen _tortellini_" – he paused to hurl a box of frozen noodles to the floor – "Are really starting to get on my nerves!" Bill massaged the bridge of his nose, and said, slowly and enunciating carefully as if talking to a small child, "You are still injured. If you go out there in that condition, you're going to die." "Screw that," Francis said, pulling out his hunting knife and throwing it like a dart. It stuck into a nearby wall, where it hung, quivering. "I'm indestructible! These vampires get between me and my hamburgers an' I'll pound 'em 'til their goddamn _grandmothers_ wished they'd never had children!" I smiled muzzily, and Francis took notice of my consciousness. His face brightened, and he waved cheerily. "Mornin', babe!" he said, and I waved back. "Going out for food?" I said, voice still slightly slurred by the last vestiges of sleep. "Yeppers," Francis said, then shot a glare at Bill and added "Or, I would be, if this old fart wasn't acting like my _mother_." Bill sighed, muttered something along the lines of "Dumbass," and stalked off, towards where Louis was sitting. Grinning, Francis walked over and reached down an arm, saying "Need a hand, darlin'?" Taking his hand, I noticed several not-quite-healed cuts and bruises on the thickly-muscled limb, and bit my lip in worry. Bill might have been right in keeping the big man here. Francis hauled me to my feet one-handed, and I winced at the brutal power in his arm, correcting my former assumption. Even injured, I didn't doubt that Francis could, and would, kick the ass of anything that "got between him and his hamburgers," as he put it. Francis took advantage of our proximity to plant a quick kiss on my lips, then stepped past me towards the door, retrieving his shotgun from a table as he passed. "Not so fast," I said, turning with my hands on my hips. Looking back at me, Francis quirked an eyebrow and said "Yeah, doll?" Picking up my twin pistols and shoving them in the holsters at my hips, I said "I'm coming with you."

"See anything?" Francis's voice was calm, but it was a calm that belied the tension I knew he was feeling. I was feeling it too: being in a group of two, unlike the group of four that we'd all grown so used to over the past weeks, was not exactly a calming experience. A lucky hunter and smoker would be all it would take to kill us both. "Nope," I responded, eyes flicking around, pistols at the ready. We stood at one end of a 4-way intersection, the traffic lights swaying back and forth slowly in the slight wind. Abandoned and wrecked cars were scattered about, and in the middle of the intersection a semi truck had collided with the side of a military humvee. The charred wreckage was not a pretty sight. Shaking his head in disbelief, Francis stalked up to one of the houses that lined the road. It was a simple, two-story affair with baby-blue siding and a dirt-colored slate roof, with light cream curtains visible behind the thick boards that were nailed on every window. Walking up to the front door, Francis didn't bother with pleasantries, simply bringing up a booted foot and slamming it into the wooden door. The door burst inwards, slamming against the wall in a shower of dust. I winced at the noise, then winced again as I heard the thunderous report of his shotgun. I heard Francis chuckle, then another noise, one all too familiar. The screeching howl of a Hunter looking for prey.

"Shit!" I hissed, darting after Francis into the relative security of the house. I took in the scene at a glance – the dead zombie, its head and shoulders reduced to bloody shreds, Francis standing over it with that grin of battle-lust on his face, the smoking shotgun leveled at the still-falling corpse. We stood in a wood-floored kitchen, the yellow flower-print wallpaper fading and peeling. One wall was lined with cupboards, a dishwasher and an oven, and a refrigerator stood against an adjacent wall. A table and chairs were set up at the other end of the room, and two doors led off into other parts of the house. Turning as I entered, Francis grinned at me, thumbing another round into his shotgun and racking the slide. His grin faded, however, as his gaze slipped past me and landed on something behind me. He raised the shotgun, and opened his mouth to yell something. But the hunter was faster. It impacted my back with enough force to knock me over, pinning me face-down on the floor and tearing into my back with its razor-sharp talons. I tried to scream, but the brutal impact had knocked the breath from my lungs. Then, suddenly, the weight was removed from my back, the talons ceased their ripping and tearing. I heard Francis growl something unintelligible, then the booming report of the shotgun rang out again. Powerful arms encircled me, lifting me up off the wood floor. I cried out as they brushed the gashes on my back, and felt something being pressed to my lips. I blinked open my eyes to see Francis holding me, looking down at me with worry etched on his features. He held two pain relievers to my lips, which I gladly swallowed. "Thanks," I managed, and he sat me down at the table, brushing a lock of hair from my face. Unhooking the first aid kit from his back, he walked around behind me and after a moment said "Er… I'm gonna need you to take off that sweater, Zo." The embarrassment in his voice made me want to giggle, but I complied, slipping the garment off and wincing as it pulled at my injuries. Left with nothing by my thin, white T-shirt, I shivered in the chill air, hugging myself for warmth. Francis began winding the gauze bandages around my torso, and I felt his warm breath tingling at the back of my neck. After a short while, he tied the bandage off, and stood back, saying "Sorry, babe. That's all I can do for you out here. We need to get back to the Burger Tank – Bill and Louis have some stronger stuff." Nodding, I stood up and slid back into my sweater, zipping up the front and retrieving my weapons from where I had dropped them.

Francis walked over to the refrigerator and ripped the door open viciously, clearly pissed. At what, my pain-addled brain couldn't figure out. Savagely pulling out handfuls of anything and everything un-perishable – the temperature-dependent goods had long since gone bad due to the lack of power in this area – he stuffed them in his backpack, his pockets, anything handy. Snatching the shotgun from the counter, he stormed out of the house, and I dazedly followed.

Halfway back to the Burger Tank, I started limping and stumbling, my vision dancing before my eyes. Francis stopped and turned, and his eyes widened as he took in my sorry state. Dashing forward, he scooped me up and held me in his arms, planting a kiss on my forehead and breaking into a run. I vaguely heard him curse, and lifted my head with an effort of will, staring past his arm to the road behind us. What I saw froze my blood: a tank was chasing after us, roaring and bellowing, swatting aside wrecked cars effortlessly as it passed. What's worse, it's roars were attracting zombies, and they started bursting from houses, crawling over fences and from car wrecks to pursue us. Forcing his injured body into a sprint, Francis gritted his teeth and held me protectively against his chest. A chunk of concrete smashed against the asphalt nearby, breaking into countless pieces on impact and sending bits of concrete skittering in all directions. I could just make out the Burger Tank sign sticking above the roofs in the distance, and I struggled to withdraw one of my pistols. Sitting up in Francis's arms, I blearily took aim and fired off several inaccurate shots at the tank chasing us, which only seemed to enrage in further. Dropping back in exhaustion and defeat, I suddenly noticed an object bouncing at Francis's hip – a pipe bomb. Unhooking it, I thumbed the ignition button and hurled it with all my tired might. It bounced and rolled along the road towards the tank, attracting all the nearby infected with its piercing wail, before detonating with a thunderous explosion that really did nothing to help my headache. I heard a familiar shout, and the stuttering roar of an assault rifle opening up on full-auto burst through my daze. "Bill!" Francis yelled as he ran. I saw blood start to seep through his jeans, and bit my lip in worry. _Dammit, this full-out sprint must be reopening his injuries. _His pace did not slow, however, and soon I was under a roof once more, my vision slowly fading until I was engulfed by sucking nothingness and knew no more.


	6. Attrition

Light. Pain. Searing, fiery pain that slithered through every vein, every nerve, every cell in my body, boiling and churning inside of me like a thing alive. I writhed in my own secret world of pain, alone. Lost.

Then the long, dreamless night. Blackness and silence. Total. All-encompassing. It was a welcome relief from the pain and the searing light. It seemed to soothe me, draw me down into its ebon embrace, comfort me like a mother comforting an injured child. I welcomed it, and gave myself to the empty night, and knew no more for a long time.

When I finally woke, the first thing that penetrated my mind was that it was cold. Extremely cold. It felt as if the very air in my lungs was about to freeze. The second thing I realized was that we weren't in the Burger Tank any more. I couldn't see much, mostly just blurs and blobs of color. I tried to speak, but it came out as more of a strangled, choking groan. _Holy shit, that hunter must have really got me good._ Shivering, I pulled myself into a semblance of a sitting position on the… _bed?_ _No, scratch that. It's a couch._ Propping myself against the arm of the couch, I looked around at my surroundings, my vision slowly clearing. I appeared to be inside a church, the high, vaulted ceiling soaring upwards on tiered flights of columns, adorned with tattered cobwebs. What I was lying on was not a couch, but was, in fact, a church pew._ That would explain why it's uncomfortable as hell._ Then I looked down, and gasped in surprise. Francis's vest was draped over me like a blanket, helping to keep me warm. Looking around, I saw the big man standing nearby, leaning against a column and looking away from me. He was wearing nothing but his white tank-top, the thin garment stretched tight over his thickly-muscled torso. He was hugging himself and apparently trying not to shiver. My eyes widened as I took in the lack of bloody wounds and bandages on his powerful frame, and I briefly wondered how long I'd been out. "Francis?" I said, managing not to choke on the word. He whipped around at the word, and rushed over, kneeling before the pew I rested on. "You okay, darlin'?" he said, looking me up and down. Smiling, I said "I think so… how long have I been out?" Francis ran a hand through his buzz-cut, and said "'Bout three or four days… not really sure myself." He grinned sheepishly, and added "Haven't been paying much attention to the time recently." Grinning back, I suddenly sobered as he shivered, then shook himself, rubbing his bare arms. "Come here, silly," I said, and patted the pew's seat. Plopping down gratefully, the pew groaning beneath his weight, he slid up next to me and enfolded me in his arms. I buried myself in his familiar scent, and drifted back into oblivion.

"So where are we, anyway? And why's it so damn cold?" I said, chewing idly on a strip of rock-hard, more than half-frozen beef jerky. "We've been headin' to that evac center up north…" Francis paused here, took a swig from the beer bottle he was holding – the frothy brown liquid inside was slushy with ice – and added "What was it called, Bill?" The 'Nam vet, in the process of checking the load on his rifle, grunted "Echo." "Right. Echo," Francis said, turning back to me. "Turns out, Echo's been moved. Y'know how it originally was in Pennsylvania? Guess where it is now!" "Somewhere cold?" I said, rubbing my numb legs to try and bring warmth back into them. It was Bill who answered, ramming the bolt on his rifle into place and saying "Canada." Francis took another swig of beer, and growled "I hate Canada." "So, are we in Canada now?" I asked, and Francis shook his head. He was about to say something when Louis cut in from his seat across the room. "Nope. We're close, though." Turning to him, Francis pointed an accusing finger at the manager, and growled "So you keep tellin' us." "You got a problem, big man?" Louis said, standing up and glaring back at Francis. "Hey! Hey!" I half-yelled, rushing between the two. "How about we save that for the zombies!" Louis flopped down in his chair, fuming. Francis pointedly turned his back on the other man, and growled just loud enough for Louis to hear "Dumbshit couldn't find his own ass with both hands and a map." Having been unconscious for the better part of four days, I really didn't know whose side to take here, so I satisfied myself with casting Louis a sympathetic glance, then seating myself next to Francis and putting a comforting arm around his waist.

"Ah, yer kiddin' me," Francis growled as he stared up at the large, yellow sign that read "BRIDGE OUT AHEAD." Viciously kicking a pebble that lay nearby, the big man slumped down on a wrecked car, the yellow paint smeared with blood. "See?" Louis said, planting his hands on his hips, voice tinged with smugness and irritation. "I _said_ we should have turned left!" I winced, anticipating the volatile goliath's reaction, but Francis merely glared up at Louis, his eyes flashing with suppressed rage. "Louis," he said in a voice that surprised me with its calm, "I'm gettin' tired of your shit." Louis flipped him the bird and stalked off, back the way we'd come. I saw Francis' hands clench in his lap, the corded muscles on his arms standing out as he balled his fists so hard that his knuckles whitened. "Am I missing something?" I whispered to Bill, glancing at the biker, then following his burning glare to Louis. Bill shook his head sadly, and said "I don't know what's gotten into those two… they've been at it ever since you went out." I gnawed my lip in worry, looking at Francis. The one thing this group didn't need was attrition tearing us apart from the inside.

That night, I lay awake for a long time, shivering in the cold. Francis was on watch, and I could see his broad shoulders silhouetted against the flickering blaze of our campfire. He was loading and unloading his shotgun, the rhythmic _click-slide-click-slide-click_ of the bullets entering and leaving the weapon barely audible from this distance. Rolling over, I couldn't shake the feeling that something very, very _bad_ was about to happen. Turning onto my side, I glanced at Louis's prone form, his chest rising and falling slowly as he slept. His Uzi lay by his side, just within reach of his right hand, laying on the floor beside the weapon. Looking back to Francis, I wondered – not for the first time – what was going on between the two of them. Bill said it had started when I 'went out'… could this have something to do with _me?_ I shook my head, though no one could see it. It couldn't be. Louis was well aware that I loved Francis, and that Francis was quite capable of killing… wasn't he? Francis shifted, and I saw the glint of his hunting knife, glowing like molten steel in the flickering light of the fire. He tossed the knife up into the air, where it hung for a few seconds, spinning end over end. He caught it deftly when it fell to earth again, snatching it out of the air and shoving it into the sheath in his boot. That was when I heard it – a dry, hacking cough. _Shit._ I struggled to free myself from the confines of the sleeping bag, frantically reaching for my gun, but the smoker was faster. Francis cursed as the foul zombie's tongue wrapped itself around him, then he was dragged, kicking and growling obscenities, into the darkness. "Shitshitshitshitshit!" I hissed, finally regaining my feet and starting after him, gun raised. Before I'd even reached the edge of the firelight, however, Francis came stalking out of the darkness, bloodstained knife in one hand, the smoker's severed head in the other. Shoving the knife into his belt, Francis picked up a stick and rammed it into the ground, then impaled the smoker's head upon it. I gagged, looking away from the grim effigy that slowly dribbled blood down the stick to pool on the ground. "Hopefully these damn vampires'll be smart enough to stay the hell away when they see that," Francis growled, slumping back down in his chair. "You okay?" I said tentatively, and he nodded. "'Course," was all he said, then he picked up his shotgun and leaned back. Giving him one last, uneasy look, I went back to my sleeping bag, settled in, and waited for my heart to stop racing.


	7. Attack

**Author's Note: Really really sorry about taking this long to update… got busy like you wouldn't believe, and writer's block decided to walk up and give me a swift kick in the gut. So I hope you guys and gals out there didn't get **_**too **_**bored waiting for me to update, and here's the next chapter at last. Enjoy!**

"What the hell is _that!_" Bill's gruff voice broke me from my long-awaited sleep, his shout indignant and confused. Sitting up groggily and blinking in the light of dawn, I took in the old veteran standing, rifle resting on his shoulder, pointing an accusing figure at the smoker's head impaled on a stick that stood watch by the edge of our camp. "What's the matter, old man?" I heard Francis growl as he extricated himself from his sleeping bag. "You never heard of a scarecrow before?" "They're zombies, not crows, dumbass," Bill growled, taking a step toward the biker. "You could have gotten us killed!" "Well, I didn't," Francis said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. Standing up, the biker dusted himself off and picked up his shotgun beneath Bill's withering glare. Louis yawned, and started struggling out of his sleeping bag. Straightening his dress shirt, he picked up his tie and started re-tying it, but stopped halfway through the act as he saw Francis's 'scarecrow'. His face turned pale, and he turned an accusing glare on Francis and Bill. Bill pointed at Francis, and Francis growled wordlessly, shouldering past the old man to stand in front of Louis. "It's a scarecrow," he said simply. "Got a problem with that?" Louis glared at the biker, and said "Yeah, you know what? I do have a damn problem! That shit is _disgusting!_ Get it outta here!"

Later that morning, we were trudging grimly down a four-lane divided highway, wrecked vehicles scattered about like discarded toys, smashed through dividers, overturned, rammed against each other. Some were even on fire. The road was lined on either side with steep embankments of hewn stone, with dense masses of trees and brush looming atop them. It was through this that the sun pierced, sending scattered rays through the boughs to play about the ground in shifting patterns of radiance. Glancing for a second too long at one of these rippling lights, I hit my foot on an unseen obstacle and stumbled, cursing. Looking down, I identified the culprit as a severed human head, lying in the road, its face twisted in a rictus snarl of terror and pain. Gagging, I turned away from the grisly sight, distracting myself by twirling the baseball bat I was carrying. Francis, walking behind me, caught sight of the head and kicked it like a soccer ball, sending it sailing through the air to land on the hood of a car, skidding along and leaving a blood trail behind it before falling off the opposite side. Louis shot Francis an appalled glare, but it was Bill who spoke. "Show some respect for the dead, Francis," he growled in a tone that brooked no argument. Francis, however, could have argued with a tank roaring in his face. "They're dead, Bill. They were too weak to stay alive, they don't deserve my goddamn respect!" Francis said, and Bill stiffened. Francis moved on before he could say anything, however, leaving Bill to fume in silence. Louis came up and gave him a pat on the shoulder, to which Bill nodded in gruff thanks. I jogged to catch up to Francis, and the biker turned as I neared, a grin splitting his features. "Hey, Zo," he said, and extended a hand. I took it, feeling his thick, calloused fingers slide through mine. Holstering his shotgun in its sling on his back, Francis slid the .45 caliber Colt handgun from its sheath on his hip, and aimed it one-handed at a wandering zombie by the roadside. Louis came up from behind and 'accidentally' bumped into him, sending his shot wild. The bullet glanced off of the side of a wrecked semi trailer, lodging itself in the passenger door of a blood-red 4-door sedan that was abandoned and fairly undamaged. The sedan sat silent for a split-second, dark and brooding. Then it erupted into the all-too-familiar wailing of a car alarm, its interior light flashing a menacing shade of bright red.

Francis whirled on Louis, livid with rage. "What the _hell!_" he bellowed, stepping forward aggressively, dwarfing the smaller man in front of him. Louis had been shocked into silence – the deadly repercussions of his seemingly harmless act of mischief rendering him mute. The howls of the infected cut off Francis's rant, however, the wordless roar sounding from all around, seeming to echo from the very ground. "Shit," I hissed, hastily discarding the baseball bat in favor of my twin pistols. Francis's shotgun boomed like thunder, and an approaching infected was ripped apart, shredded like cheese as the buckshot tore through its chest and head. I backed up until I felt the reassuring presence of Francis's strong, broad back against my own, then took careful aim at the zombies now pouring over the embankments. One almost reached me as I was reloading, but I brought a foot up and kicked it in the chest, sending it stumbling backwards. Mentally thanking my dad for making me take those karate classes when I was six, I pulled the slide on the pistol back, raised it, and pumped three rounds into the offending zombie's chest and head. The signature screech of a hunter on the prowl rent the air, and I spun, searching for the stalking predator. A blur of motion in the corner of my eye made me whip my head around just in time to see the hoodie-clad zombie pounce on Louis, throwing the manager to the ground, his gun skittering away across the pavement. Louis frantically tried to defend himself, but the primal strength of the hunter was too much for him. Blood spurted and Louis cried out in agony as razor talons ripped through his white dress shirt. "_Shit!"_ Francis growled, spinning around and letting the hunter have a blast from his shotgun. The bestial zombie was knocked clean off Louis from the force of the blast, the buckshot tearing through its body and splattering the road behind it with bloody gobbets of infected flesh. Louis was cradling his open wound, laying in a steadily-growing pool of his own blood and groaning. Bill rushed over to help him, gunning down several infected that, sensing weakness, had moved in for an easy meal. Francis lashed out, striking an encroaching zombie with his fist and flooring it, before planting his boot on its chest and blowing its head into bloody shreds with a point-blank shotgun blast. As I poured hot lead into the oncoming horde, I prayed that the situation didn't get any worse.

It got worse. The unliving tide showed no sign of ceasing, and as I pulled the trigger for what seemed the hundredth time, a polite 'click' informed me that my clip was empty. Thumbing the clip release, I reached to my hip for another… and found nothing but air. My eyes went wide, and I looked up to see the horde closing in on me, taking merciless advantage of my moment of weakness. The first blow sent stars whirling in front of my vision. The second landed right in my gut, causing me to double over in pain. The third sent me to my knees. My vision swam, my heart hammered in my ears, and I looked death in the face as one would look at an oncoming freight train. But the fourth blow never landed. A boom like thunder slashed brutally through my pain-addled senses, and I felt the wind of passing buckshot. An almost painfully strong arm was wrapped around my waist, and I felt myself being hefted, slung over someone's shoulder. I blinked my eyes open, not realizing I'd shut them. I was staring into the back of a bloodstained leather vest. Francis's gravelly voice penetrated my daze, saying playfully "How many times have I saved your ass now?" The howls of the infected had not abated, and I heard Francis roar "Bill! Louis! We gotta go, _now!_" "Workin' on it!" Bill yelled back, then let loose with a burst from his M16 - or so my ears told me, as the staccato blasts ripped through the horde's growls and howls. Francis's shotgun roared again, and I felt the big-bore weapon's recoil as Francis's powerful muscles stiffened to handle the kick. My eyes, bleary with pain and fear, finally registered an object of Francis's belt. A grey cylinder about six inches long, a fuse dangling from the top, a beeper protruding from the side like a rectangular white wart. A pipe bomb. Reaching out and sliding the explosive off the big biker's belt, I fished around in my pocket with my other hand for the cigarette lighter I always carried with me for this exact use - not an easy feat while dangling upside-down on Francis's shoulder. Flicking the igniter, I held the hissing flame to the fuse, stuffed the lighter back in my pocket, and hurled the pipe bomb as far away as I could while hanging with my head towards the floor.

The cylindrical explosive bounced a few times on the asphalt, skittering across the highway to land in the long, untrimmed grass by the road's edge. All the nearby infected swarmed it like sharks that scented blood in the water. Francis whooped a battle-cry, and I joined in as best I could in my awkward position. As Francis started off at a run, I closed my eyes, my body aching. It felt like I'd been trampled by a horse, and I couldn't imagine what Francis must have felt that night he'd saved my life at the supermarket. As I was pondering this, another thought struck me: ours weren't the only gunshots I had heard during the horde attack.


	8. Newcomers

I came to not long after, lying on something cold, hard, and flat. Blinking, I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes, slightly confused; I hadn't realized I'd been out. I appeared to be in a very small store, lying on the tiles behind the counter. The shelves had been ransacked, and trash was scattered across the floor. At the far end of the store, the coolers where drinks were stored were standing open, completely empty save for a loose bottle of beer that had been shoved to one side and burst open, spilling its contents over the shelves and floor. Turning, I noticed that someone - and I could guess who - had been nice enough to make me a pillow out of a bloodstained hoodie. Trying my best not to think about where the hoodie came from, I struggled to my feet, still bleary from sleep. Then I realized I could hear faint voices, through the wall behind me. Turning, I came face-to-face with a metal door with 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' printed on it. Shrugging and mentally apologizing to the most-likely-dead store owner, I twisted the handle and pushed the door open. The voices were suddenly quite a bit louder; a deep baritone growl that was definitely Francis, and a drawling, sneering voice that I didn't recognize.

"Look, greaseball, it's pretty simple. We need to move. Maybe you're fine with staying in this shithole, but as for us, we're getting out of here. If your friend isn't ready to move, we're moving without her. Period." Navigating through piles of empty boxes in what appeared to be a storage room, I bit my teeth in worry. Were they talking about me? Then Francis growled, voice thick with barely-restrained fury, "_You _look, _suit_. There's no two ways around it; I'm _not_ leavin' her, and if you think you can change that, then I hope you're hungry, 'cause you're about to get a big, heapin' portion of knuckle sandwich." _Well_, I thought, fumbling for the handle of the door out in the darkness. _This situation is getting worse quickly. _Then a nasal voice thick with southern drawl cut in, saying "Hey now fellas, no need fer this. Ah'm sure we can-…" the voice stopped, however, as I opened the door and stepped through.

Bill, Francis and Louis were all there, standing next to each other, with Francis out in front, in an aggressive posture with one leg forward, jabbing a finger in the direction of the four newcomers. There was a huge black man - probably a football player or something - wearing a bloodstained polo shirt and khakis with an equally bloodstained machete at his hip and a shotgun on his back. There was a man in a dirt-smeared but expensive looking white suit leaning casually against a nearby wall, a large-caliber pistol holstered at his hip and an assault rifle leaning against the wall next to him. There was a short-ish man who looked hardly older than I was, wearing a pair of overalls tied off at his waist, a tan T-shirt that bore the word "Bullshifters," and a baseball cap, carrying a hunting rifle. And finally, a black woman stood off to the side a ways, wearing jeans, boots and a pink Depeche Mode T-shirt, carrying an M16.

It was the man in the overalls and the ballcap who was speaking, as I could tell by the fact that his mouth was open, having been cut off in mid-sentence. When he saw me, however, he made no effort to shut his mouth, and his eyes widened just a bit. There was a long, awkward silence, then the man in the suit chuckled and shook his head. "Close your mouth before a fly crawls in, Ellis," he said, and I immediately recognized his voice as the drawling one who had proposed leaving me behind earlier. I immediately decided that I disliked him. The one in the overalls - apparently named Ellis - shut his mouth quickly, with an audible snap, and turned away, blushing a shade of red reminiscent of a tomato. This only caused the man in the suit to laugh harder, at which the big black man shot him a withering glare, which he took no notice of. Francis, Louis and Bill, having been facing away from me, took in Ellis's reaction and turned to look at what he had been looking at. As soon as Francis saw me, he looked back at Ellis for a moment, then back to me, eyes narrowing. Louis walked over while Francis was glowering at the newcomers, and said "Hey, you okay? Gave us a bit of a fright." Nodding vigorously, I said "Yeah, I'm fine. Who are these guys?" Louis gave me a cheerful smile and said "The one in the suit is Nick. He doesn't talk much. The one in the overalls is Ellis. He talks too much." Here Louis paused to chuckle, before continuing "The football guy just calls himself Coach. The girl in the Depeche Mode shirt is Rochelle. Other than that, we don't really know."

Looking over, I noticed Ellis casting occasional nervous glances at me, and Francis glaring daggers at him. Walking over to Francis, I whispered "Hey, what's up?" Looking down at me, his expression softening, the big biker muttered "That guy over there - Ellis, I think his name was - has been lookin' at you ever since you left the building. I don't like it." Despite the tense situation, I couldn't help but grin. The big guy was so protective of me, it was almost funny. "Relax," I said, gently patting Francis's arm. "I can take care of myself." Shaking his head, Francis stalked off, standing by himself with his arms folded over his chest, facing away from the group, brooding. Sighing, I left him to it.

That night, Ellis worked up the nerve to talk to me. I was sitting on the ground outside, leaning up against a wall of the store, when he nervously sidled up, holding his hat in his hands and idly toying with it. "So…" he began, then cleared his throat and, blushing, continued "The fellas o'er there told me yer name's Zoey… that right?" I nodded, and after a pause, he said "Issa beautiful name." Running a hand through his sandy curls, he blushed an even deeper shade of red, and turned away as if to leave. But he didn't go anywhere, and after a few seconds turned back. "So, uh… Zoey… d'you, y'know… like me?" I quirked an eyebrow at the slightly odd question, and replied "Well, I've only just met you, so I really don't know enough to like you." He looked rather crestfallen, so I quickly amended "But I don't dislike you either." He gave me a lopsided smile, and said "Y'know, you remind me o' this one girl mah buddy Keith knew once… she was, like, seven feet tall or somethin', an' had these beautiful blue eyes… man, this one time, she an' Keith were out huntin', an' she found a-…" Before he could finish his story, however, he was cut off by a powerful hand in a fingerless leather glove being placed on his shoulder. A broad-shouldered silhouette towered over him, and a deep voice growled "I think the lady would like some peace and quiet." Swallowing visibly, Ellis nodded vigorously and backed away, waving goodbye to me before turning and walking off, head down, shoulders hunched. "Now Francis, you didn't have to be quite so mean to him," I said, folding my arms over my chest in mock anger. "That kid rubs me the wrong way," Francis growled, and sat down next to me, draping an arm over my shoulders and looking out into the night.

Some time in the middle of the night, I was woken from slumber by a scream of "Son of a-… Aaagh! Shit! Get it off!" Rolling out of the sleeping bag, I fumbled for my handgun while fighting off sleep. Struggling to my feet and finally withdrawing the weapon from its holster, I gazed around at the blurry, sleep-fogged world, my eyes finally coming to rest on two struggling forms locked together in a wrestling match. Unable to make out which one was which, I charged forward, raising the pistol and flipping the safety off. I was just nearing the struggling pair when a high-powered sniper shot boomed out like a whipcrack, and the figure on top was blown off of his opponent, spraying grayish blood from its ruined face. Slipping the pistol back into its holster - after turning the safety back on - I rubbed my eyes to clear them and knelt down. It was Ellis who'd been attacked, apparently by a hunter; long, bloody gouges were visible on his sides and arms. Thankfully, none of them appeared to be deep. I locked eyes with Ellis, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he reached up a hand, slowly, tentatively reaching for my face. His fingers lightly brushed my cheek, leaving a light trail of his own blood. He started leaning forward almost involuntarily, eyes slowly closing as our faces neared… and suddenly a massive shadow loomed over us.

Ellis's eyes widened in a classic 'deer in the headlights' look, and seemed stunned. Turning, I drew in my breath as I saw Francis standing behind me, silhouetted against the low-hanging moon, fists balled at his hips. His eyes glinted like cold, hard chips of flint. I'd never seen him so angry. "Move aside, Zoey," he ground out through clenched teeth, every syllable dripping with murderous rage. Ellis started frantically scrabbling backwards, and I heard three guns cock. Francis snapped his head around like a cornered wolf, glancing from Nick holding Ellis's sniper rifle, its barrel still smoking from the shot that had killed the hunter, to Coach with his shotgun leveled, to Rochelle training her M16 on him. All three looked grim, and quite ready to kill to defend their comrade. "Francis…" I began, holding out my hands in a placating gesture. His jaw worked. His fists clenched and unclenched. Finally he jabbed a finger at Ellis, snarled "I swear to god, hillbilly, lay _one goddamn finger_ on Zoey _ever again _and I will break every bone in your damn body." So saying, he whirled and stormed off, leaving Ellis and his teammates staring after him.


	9. Breaking Point

I was woken the next morning by Nick, grumbling loudly about, who else, Francis. "Mark my words, that goddamn greaseball is going to get us all killed! If he doesn't do it himself, he's probably going to stumble into an alarm car or go haring off on some daredevil escapade!" Blinking open my eyes, I stared into Francis's back for a long moment, studying his tattoos. He had stalked off after his confrontation with Ellis, and I had found him lying by himself in a corner, sullen and angry. I slept next to him the whole night to comfort him.

I was only half-listening as Coach made a comment - half my mind was following the flames, the skulls, the curvaceous, bat-winged women inked into Francis's tanned skin. "Now, don't you be startin' nothin', Nicholas," Coach said gruffly. I could tell he was irritated. "If Ellis would just stay away from that Zoey girl, we wouldn't have these problems!" "Yeah?" Nick retorted, voice dripping with scorn. "Tell that to our hillbilly friend." I gently gnawed my lip in worry; internal tensions were the last thing we needed, especially with unresolved animosity still between Francis and Louis. It looked like our group was about to tear itself apart from the inside, as if the zombies trying to tear it apart from the outside weren't enough to worry about. Quietly climbing to my feet, I slipped into my shoes, quickly tying the laces. Throwing on my red sweater over my thin white T-shirt -_ it was damn cold_ up here in Canada - I turned, running a hand through my hair in a feeble attempt to restore order to the tangled mass. Francis claimed it was beautiful, but I honestly don't know what he sees in the greasy, gnarled mess. Honestly, my hair hasn't seen a shower or a comb in… weeks? Months? Who knew anymore?

Nick and Coach immediately halted their conversation when I approached, and Coach cheerily wished me good morning. I returned the gesture, and even repeated it for Nick, who repayed me with a monosyllabic grunt and the tiniest of nods. "There anything to eat around here?" I said, suddenly realizing that I hadn't eaten in a while. Coach grinned, withdrawing a few granola bars from his backpack and tossing two to me. Ripping the foil wrapping off, I tore into the meager food like a starved wolf. The two bars were gone less than a minute, and Nick raised a sardonic eyebrow at my performance, turning away and making a futile attempt to clean his jacket. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I turned around to see Francis sitting up, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Mornin', darlin'," he mumbled, staggering to his feet. I grinned up at him, amused; even after all this time, Francis still was not a morning person. Reaching down, the big man retrieved and tugged on first his tank top, then his vest. I was a little sorry to lose sight of his toned, muscular chest, but said nothing as he dressed. After he was finished, he grunted, rubbed his temples, and mumbled "There any booze around here?" Coach gave him a disapproving scowl, but Ellis, all the way on the other side of the lawn keeping watch, perked up his ears. "Ya'll say somethin' 'bout beer?" he said, then shook his head, adding more quietly "Man, I could really go fer a cold one right 'bout now…" Francis scowled darkly at him, not having forgotten the confrontation of the previous night. Patting the big biker on the arm, I whispered "I'll see what I can find in the store." Turning, he grinned down at me, planted a quick kiss on my lips, and muttered "What would I do without you, babe?" Smiling back, I turned and walked off, feeling Ellis's eyes boring into my back like lasers.

The store was, at first glance, completely empty. Aside from a sole broken bottle, there was nothing at all in the freezer racks. Frowning, I planted my hands on my hips and scowled down at the spilled beer, biting my lip in frustration. "Damn, girl, who stole _your_ wallet?" I whirled at the exclamation, hand instinctively flying to the handgun at my hip. My eyes rested on Louis standing in the door, and I blew out my breath in a sigh, letting my hand fall. _Shit, I'm getting paranoid._ Louis grinned his loony, over-cheerful grin, and started walking slowly towards me, looking around the store. "Man, someone really cleaned this place out," he said, looking around at the empty shelves. I was about to agree with him when from outside came a bestial roar.

My first thought was that a tank had found our camp, and was now charging us. This thought was reinforced as Ellis came crashing through the wall next to me in a cloud of drywall chunks and plaster dust, nose and mouth trailing blood. However, it was not a tank that stepped through the jagged hole in the wall, but Francis. He was livid with rage, eyes blazing like fires, jaw set, fists clenched. Ellis scrambled unsteadily to his feet, wiping blood from his face with one hand and reaching for his pistol with the other. As Louis and I reached for our own handguns, Francis took two huge strides forward and slammed an uppercut into Ellis's chin that sent the younger man tumbling backwards to crash into an empty shopping cart, going down in a tangle of limbs and metal. "Francis!" Louis shouted, pistol raised. "Calm the hell down, right now!" Whirling, Francis ground out "Shut the hell up, Louis! If you had any god damn idea what this kid just did…" he broke off, unable to find the right words to express his rage. Louis didn't lower his pistol, and, staring down the barrel at the huge biker who suddenly seemed five times larger and more intimidating, said "Fine, go ahead and tell me what he did, but for the love of god, stop hitting the poor kid!" I spared a moment to glance over at Ellis, who was currently hauling himself to his feet, using a nearby shelf for support. An ugly purplish bruise was forming around his left eye, his nose and mouth were still leaking blood, and he was dusted with plaster. He looked unsteady on his feet, and his face was twisted in a grimace. _Goddamn, Francis really did a number on him. _"That… that…" Francis was stammering, jabbing a finger at Ellis over and over again. Louis glanced around frantically for something, anything to calm Francis down with, Ellis spit out a mouthful of blood, and I glanced back and forth between the three men in an agony of indecision. And then I heard them.

They were coming from all around, attracted by the noise of our confrontation. I could hear them howling and snarling in anticipation of a meal, and I could hear the jagged bursts of noise as the other survivors outside opened fire. Louis, seizing the opportunity, said "Okay Francis, tell you what. I'll listen to your whole story later, but right now we gotta get out there and save Bill and the others." For a long moment, Francis didn't move, standing still as a statue with his shoulders hunched and his fists balled. Then, finally, he nodded stiffly, and growled "Okay. You win. Let's go." As they turned to leave, Louis yelled over his shoulder "Zoey, help Ellis get out of here! There's a first aid kit by my sleeping bag, you can use that to patch him up!" and then he and Francis disappeared out the door, leaving me alone with Ellis. I looked over at him, taking in his sorry state, his eyes locked onto mine with a silent plea in his eyes. _Wonderful._ Walking over, I offered him a hand, which he gladly took, and hauled himself to his feet. Draping one of his arms over my shoulders to support him, I started walking him outside, trying to ignore the feel of his eyes burning into the side of my face, his hot breath on my cheek. _The only thing that would make this situation more awkward was if he asked to-… _"Hey, Zoey, can we talk?" _Shit. _"Nothing to talk about," I said simply. I could feel him flinch as if I'd slapped him. He started to say "Zoey, I…" but broke off, looking away. _Hell with it. Time to get this settled once and for all._ Stopping walking, I turned until I was facing him, and put my hands on his shoulders. He looked up into my eyes, and I looked back into his. "Ellis, listen to me. I like you a lot - I really do. But I do _not_, I repeat, do _not_ love you. I love Francis with all my heart, and you're just going to have to accept that." He looked like I had taken a knife and driven it to the hilt in his chest. I sighed inwardly. _I do not need this right now._ Giving him what I hoped was a reassuring pat on the shoulder, I helped him out the door, and made for Louis's sleeping bag as the gunfire and enraged growls of the infected redoubled.


	10. Siege

Francis, Louis and Bill had taken up station behind an overturned table next to our extinguished campfire, firing over the table's edge at the oncoming horde. Coach stood out in front, laying about himself with his machete. I saw a zombie's head go flying, spurting blood, then Coach disemboweled another with his backswing, nearly cutting the foul thing in twain. Rochelle and Nick stood together by the group's sleeping bags, taking potshots at any zombies that got too close. Turning Ellis toward the sleeping area and giving him a hard shove and a yell of "Go!" I turned and made a mad dash for the table where my compatriots had taken cover. Firing off a few shots with my pistol as I ran, I caught one infected in the chest, staggering it and slowing its charge, then placed a bullet squarely between its eyes, killing it. Sliding into position behind the table like an NBL player sliding to home plate, I reloaded on the fly and said "How's it look?" "Bad," Bill replied as I stood up, firing a burst from his M16 and dropping two oncoming infected. "At first, they were all coming in a straight line from those woods," he said, pointing to the forest directly in front of us before felling another zombie with a well-aimed shot and continuing "Now they're spreading out, flanking us. Before too long, we'll be surrounded. "Shit," I cursed, and meant it. Being surrounded by zombies was _not_ something that you wanted to happen to you.

"Shit! I'm dry!" Francis yelled, throwing his empty shotgun to the ground. The infected were all around us now, and we had retreated into a semicircle around the sleeping bags. With concerted firepower from all eight of us - Ellis had been hurriedly patched up by Rochelle and given his sniper rifle - we had managed to hold the infected off for a few minutes, but now they took advantage of the lapse in firepower and pressed in on our side. One leaped over our makeshift barricade, tackling Francis to the ground with the force of its charge. Cursing, the biker rolled it over onto its back, grabbed his shotgun and caved in the zombie's skull with the butt of the weapon. Turning, he swung the shotgun like a club, knocking a nearby zombie off its feet and snapping its neck with the same blow. Bill was down on one knee to steady his aim, taking careful, precise shots into the crowd. Louis was unleashing a steady stream of profanity as he sprayed the crowd of oncoming zombies with his submachine gun, only pausing to reload. Slamming a fresh clip - one out of only three remaining - into my waiting pistol, I racked the slide and quickly put two rounds into a zombie trying to climb over the barricade. Blood spurted from the gaping wounds in its chest and head as it toppled over backwards, almost instantly replaced by another zombie, which I felled by placing a bullet in its forehead.

"There's too many!" Bill yelled, smashing a zombie in the face with the butt of his rifle. "We have to pull out of here!' "Where the hell did they all come from!" Francis roared, ramming the heel of his boot into the face of a zombie that he had tripped. "This is just a goddamn rest stop!" "Should have paid more attention to the terrain, grease ball!" Nick yelled back, blasting away with his handgun, his assault rifle having run dry. "There's an overrun CEDA evacuation center just down the road!" _Oh, _I thought, my heart turning to ice. _That explains it._ I could picture it now - the camp packed with terrified refugees, flooding in faster than they could be evacuated. The roads for miles around would be jammed with cars full of even more people, trapped in their vehicles, unable to move. All it would take would be one infected person…

Shaking off the horrifying mental image, I dropped a charging zombie with a shot to the head, then turned to look for any possible escape route. The open door of the rest stop was tantalizing, but I knew that it could quickly become a death trap. With limited exits and cramped quarters, we would soon become trapped and, almost inevitably, killed. My eyes flicked around desperately, finally coming to rest on an old, rusty ladder that led up to the rooftop. It wasn't perfect, but it was our best bet. "Bill!" I yelled over the din of battle. "Ladder!" I jabbed my finger at the ladder in question, and Bill followed my gesture, his gaze landing on the ladder and hardening. He considered for a split-second - in truth, a split-second is all the time he had - and then barked "Everyone, get to that ladder! Nick and I will cover our retreat!" I don't know how high-ranking Bill was back in his time in the army, but he could belt out orders like a drill sergeant when he wanted to. Even the usually quarrelsome Nick obeyed without a word of protest, laying down a field of covering fire with his assault rifle while slowly walking backwards beside Bill. The rest of us bolted for the ladder. Rochelle went up first, nimbly scooting up the ladder and calling down encouragement from above when she reached the roof. I went next, and the ladder, however rusty, seemed sturdy enough. Ellis climbed up next, his injuries causing him to move a little slower than either me or Rochelle. Then came Coach, and the ladder groaned in protest under the big man's weight. Cursing as he hauled himself up, Coach turned and started blasting at the oncoming horde with his shotgun. Nick climbed up next, deftly clambering up the rickety metal with an athlete's grace, making me wonder about his past. Francis grabbed Bill by the shoulders, turned him around and shoved him at the ladder. While the old veteran was climbing, Francis held the zombies off by swinging his shotgun like a club, knocking down any who came near. Coach helped Bill up the last few rungs, and then it was Francis's turn. He had almost reached the top when, with a shriek of tortured metal, the ladder gave out and sent him tumbling downwards towards the countless outstretched hands and gaping mouths beneath.

I'm not entirely sure what happened next; blame it on the adrenaline, the fear, the shock, what have you, but the next thing I knew, I was flat on my belly at the building's edge, Francis dangling from my hand, bare inches above the straining fingertips of the infected horde below. I could feel my grip slipping, slowly but surely, my sweat-slippery fingers unable to keep a firm enough hold on his wrist - and it didn't help that Francis must have weighed close to two-fifty pounds or more, and almost all of it muscle. My eyes locked with Francis's as he dangled there, and his hardened after taking in my expression. I'm not sure what he saw there - terror or sorrow, maybe? - but whatever it was, he found strength in it. His booted feet scrabbled for purchase on the brick wall, and his other arm reached upwards, taking a hold of my wrist. This situation, however, was not much better; Francis's weight was starting to drag me over the edge as well. Suddenly, my slow slipping was stopped dead as a pair of thick, powerful arms wrapped around my waist, and Coach's voice boomed "Don't worry none, I got ya'll!" Between him and me, we managed to haul Francis up onto the roof, where he lay for a few moments, panting.

Moments later, I suddenly realized that I was on top of Francis, his powerful arms around me, pinning me to him. The side of my face was pressed against his chest, and I could hear his heartbeat - loud, and surprisingly fast, hammering in his chest like a runaway drummer. Was it possible? Was Francis actually _scared?_ I felt his fingers running absently through my hair, and I heard him whisper in my ear "I love you, Zoey." Giving him a brief squeeze, I whispered back "I love you, too." A loud throat-clearing above us broke up the impromptu romantic scene, and Francis released me, sitting up and shaking his head as if to clear it of unwanted thoughts. Standing up awkwardly, I dusted myself off and looked up to see Nick standing beside us, looking down at Francis with a single eyebrow raised. "I hate to break up the love-fest, but we kinda have to get moving," Nick said, voice dripping with his usual cynicism and scorn. "Ah, piss off, Colonel Sanders," Francis growled, struggling to his feet and brushing off his vest. He glanced at me, and I saw - or thought I saw - a sliver of that vulnerability and fear glimmering in the depths of his eyes, but it was covered up so quickly by his usual 'uncaring badass' attitude that I wondered if I had imagined it. Turning away, Francis followed the rest of our group to the other edge of the roof, where there were, fortunately, a whole lot less zombies. "Well," Francis said, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Bill. "What now?" Bill sighed and removed his beret, running a hand through his graying hair. Replacing the beret and taking a moment to adjust its angle, he turned to the big biker and said "Now, Francis…" pausing to rake his gaze across the rest of our group like a commander inspecting his troops, he finished "we walk." Francis groaned. "Ugh. I hate walking." Nick rolled his eyes but said nothing, and I mentally took stock of our odds. Eight immune survivors with limited weapons, almost no ammo, no transportation, and only the vaguest of ideas about where in the hell we were. I leaned on Francis for a moment, and, to my slight surprise, felt him lean back a little. Just a little, so little that I hardly noticed it, but it was there. Wrapping an arm around his chest, I smiled, letting my head rest against his side as I stared out across the sprawling vista before us. Well, if we had nothing else, at least we had each other. That would have to be enough.


	11. A Dark Past

That night, we bedded down in an old Canadian ranch house, boarded up and fortified but with no indications that the fortifications were ever used. There were no bullet-holes in the walls, no bloodstains, no dead bodies anywhere. The only clue was a hastily scrawled note written in black marker on one wall of the master bedroom; "_Robert, gone to Delta. Meet us there. ~Elizabeth" _Not even Bill knew what 'Delta' was, but he guessed that it was another evac zone like Echo. Francis was the only one who didn't seem curious, though. He just grumbled something about hating Canada, and went to find the bathroom.

The house had three bedrooms - a master bedroom with a huge king-size four-poster, and two smaller bedrooms, each with a smaller bed. The master bedroom and one of the others were on the second floor, whereas the third bedroom was located on the first floor, presumably a guest room. Bill had taken the guest room, claiming that he'd had enough of stair-climbing during this, as he colorfully put it 'goddamn apocalypse horseshit,' and Coach joined him to give the old man some company. Louis and Rochelle took the other small bedroom, the former not wanting to share a room with Francis for obvious reasons. Nick and Ellis, lacking anywhere to sleep, decided to take first watch. That left Francis and I to take the master bedroom, a situation neither of us objected to.

I was sitting on the bed, legs stretched out in front of me and crossed at the ankles, hands behind my head, leaning up against a pile of pillows. Francis sat on a writing desk in a near corner of the room, one leg pulled up next to him, one leg dangling down over the edge of the desk, his arms folded over his chest. We were silent for a long time, then Francis said softly "Thanks. For saving my life back there." It took me a moment to process this; it was the first time I'd ever heard Francis directly admit to needing someone's help. After a moment, I managed to say "Nothing more than what you would have done for me." He smiled, a very slight, almost sad smile, but didn't say anything more. In a desperate attempt to break the awkward silence, I said "So, Francis, you ever have a girlfriend before?" He snorted. "I've lost count of 'em all." I scowled at him. "You know what I mean, Francis. Not one-night-stands or brief love affairs - a real girlfriend." It was his turn to scowl, and after a pause he growled "Just one. Five years ago." Shit. Bad choice of topic. Glaring at the wall, Francis continued "I came home from the bar one night, found her sleepin' with another man." My breath hissed in through my teeth. A worse choice of topic than I thought. I was about to say something, to apologize for bringing it up, when he continued. "It was… about nine o'clock, I think…"

_**Francis's PoV, five years ago**_

I parked my black Ford F-250 at the end of the driveway - where I always put it so I could leave quickly in the morning. Twisting the key in the ignition, I listened as the baritone snarl of the huge engine died away, then slid the key out and stuffed it in my vest pocket. Popping the door open, I slid out of the leather seat, boots landing with a heavy, muffled thump on the dirt. I knew something was wrong as I started up the path; the bedroom light was on in our house. I could see the dim yellow glow slicing through the blinds of the two upstairs windows facing out over the driveway. Nicky never left the bedroom light on when she went to bed, and she was almost always in bed by now to be ready for her breakfast shift at a local Bill and Ernie's. There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I mounted the front steps, the wood creaking beneath my weight, and reached for the doorknob. I twisted and pulled, and the door swung open, another warning sign. Nicky always kept the front door locked. Some instinct deep within me was practically screaming at me to be quiet, so I obeyed it without thinking. Sneaking in steel-toed motorcycle boots is not an easy feat, but I had practice. Walking almost soundlessly across the ratty old baby-blue carpet of the dining room, I stopped suddenly as if pole-axed. My eye had been caught by a plate on the table, still with a few leftover bits and pieces of food on it. My eyes narrowed, my gut sinking even further, and my heart revving up. Nicky was a neat freak - she never left a plate, let alone a plate with food on it, out on the table. She also never ate this late. I started to hear sounds coming from the bedroom as I climbed the stairs; the closed door muffled them, so I couldn't identify them just yet, but by now I was beginning to fear the worst. My muscles bunched as I gripped the handrail, squeezing the wood until I thought it might break. By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I could tell beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going on in there - and I was pissed.

The door to our bedroom was thick and made from oak; the real deal, not the cheap knockoff shit you find in some stores. It was sturdy as hell, and even I would have trouble breaking it. Thankfully, Nicky had not had the presence of mind to lock it, and it swung open without much protest. My eyes instantly locked onto the bed, and it's two occupants. Nicky was instantly recognizable, lying on her back, her hair in a wild mess around her head. Her eyes were partially glazed, her lips parted to let out a moan. On top of her was a man I didn't recognize. Nicky looked in my direction, and froze. Her eyes instantly snapped into perfect, crystal focus, locked onto mine, and widened in fear. Her lover noticed the change in her behavior, and turned his head to follow her gaze. Through clenched teeth I snarled "Am I interrupting something?"

The man was off the bed and coming at me within five seconds - impressive, considering the shock and surprise that would have paralyzed most men for at least double that. He was a big man, not as tall as I was and not quite as muscular, but with the hard, toned look of an athlete. His knuckles were heavily calloused, implying a career in boxing. However, he had the disadvantage of not being me. When most men get angry, they get wild. Sloppy. Like what's-his-name here. Me… I'm different. Rage makes me focused. Lethal. And at that moment, I had nothing but rage.

His first punch was sloppy - a wide right hook aimed for my face. Typical boxing instincts. My left hand snapped up, catching a hold of the poor man's wrist. With a sharp twist and jerk, his wrist broke. I could feel the bones snap and grind beneath my iron grip, and the man's mouth parted in a silent 'oh' as shockwaves of pain lanced up his arm to his brain. He didn't have any time to recover, however, as I delivered a vicious snap-kick to his groin that would have had him doubling over if I didn't have such a firm hold on his wrist. Bringing my free hand up, I rammed it into his gut, sending the breath whooshing out of him. Then I did it again. He was bent over as much as my grip would allow by now, head practically parallel with the floor. Taking advantage of this, I brought my fist up again, this time right into his face. I felt his nose crunch, felt the hot blood spurt out onto my fist. He would have cried out - I could feel his body twitch from the effort - but there was no breath in his lungs to cry with. Letting go of the poor bastard, I stepped over his collapsing form, standing before the bed where Nicky lay. She had drawn the blankets up around her, as if they would protect her. Other men would have probably started ranting about now, or crying, or yelling and pacing around and asking why, why had she betrayed them! Not me. I got right up in her face, glaring down into her eyes, and slugged her across the jaw.

Her head whipped to the side, her body twisting along with it to prevent her neck from snapping. Even so, it took several moments for what had just happened to register with her. She clearly was not expecting it. She reached up a hand, absent-mindedly running her fingers across what I was sure was going to be one hell of a bruise. Then she looked at me with a stunned expression on her face. Then I tore off the necklace she had bought me for my last birthday, and flung it onto her lap, snarling "This belongs to you." Turning on my heel, I stalked out of the room without a backward glance.

_**Zoey's PoV, present day**_

"And I never saw her again," Francis finished. "Never even learned the guy's name." I could see his eyes shimmering with tears that he brutally held back. This 'Nicky' must have meant a lot to him, for him to still be this bothered by it, five years later. If I ever met her - assuming she wasn't dead by now - I'd give her a few more bruises. After several moments of silence, I patted the bed next to me, wordlessly inviting Francis to join me. He didn't need any encouragement. He got up from the desk, walked over and slumped down on the bed next to me, shoulders hunched. "Sorry," he muttered, fists clenched in his lap. "I know, it's been five years, I shoulda gotten over it by now…" he shook his head slowly, then finished "It's just… the ironic thing is, I was gonna propose to her the next day. I'd already bought a ring an' everything." He turned his head, giving me a lopsided smile, and said "Guess I'm better off without her, eh? After all…" he leaned close to me, draping an arm over my shoulders, and whispered "I got you now, don't I?" I smiled, temporarily unable to say anything around the lump that had suddenly formed in my throat, and rolled over on top of him, planting a firm kiss on his lips. I could feel his hands on my sides, and I took hold of them, guiding them down lower. Grinning into the kiss, I murmured around his lips "Well, seeing as how we've got this room to ourselves, how about I cheer you up a little?" His voice took on a note of concern, and he pulled back for a moment, asking "Zoey… are you sure you-…?" I cut him off with a finger to his lips, and said simply "Yes."


	12. Canada

I woke early the next morning, as usual. Apparently, whoever had taken the last shift had been kind enough to let us sleep in - either that, or it was a lot earlier than I thought it was. I was curled up in a ball with Francis lying behind me. I could feel his powerful arm draped over me, feel his chest rising and falling against my back as he slept. The first rays of dawn were beginning to filter in through the cracks in the boards covering the large picture windows on the wall in front of me, and the only sound was Francis's slow, soft breathing. Slowly extracting myself from Francis's embrace, I slipped out from beneath the blankets and stood up, shivering as the bitterly cold air slithered up against my bare skin. I quickly tugged on my clothes, buckling my holster back onto my hip and sliding my pistol into it. Pausing to glance one final time at the writing on the wall, I shrugged and pushed open the door, stepping out into the upstairs hallway. Starting down the stairs, I paused as I realized I could hear conversation coming from the kitchen below me.

"Get over it!" That was Nick's voice. "You can't go chasing around after the girl forever, Ellis! Francis nearly beat you to death last time you brought the subject up - imagine what he'll do next time!" Then Ellis's voice cut in, defiant and sullen. "I don' care, Nick. I c'n handle myself. Francis jus' took me by surprise, that's all." Nick snorted. "Oh, please," he drawled, cynicism dripping from every syllable. "That man is twice your size, with four times your fighting experience. He could chew you up and spit you out with one hand tied behind his back." I heard a loud crash, and Ellis yelled "Who in tha flamin' hell's side are you on, Nick!" I winced. I just wanted some breakfast, and now it seemed like I was going to walk in on the middle of a heated argument. Over me. Spectacular.

The two men abruptly stopped arguing as I walked into the kitchen, Ellis turning away and blushing and Nick snickering to himself, turning away to keep watch out the window. Pointedly not looking at either of them, I walked over to the counter, grabbing my backpack and unzipping it, reaching in and pulling out a handful of miscellaneous snacks - granola bars, rice krispies, and the like. Giving the briefest of nods to Nick and Ellis, I hastily retreated with my food, fleeing to the living room to eat it.

I plopped down on the big plush couch that dominated one wall of the living room, propping my legs up on the coffee table that sat before it and tearing into my meager repast. I had finished my first granola bar and started on the second when Coach walked into the room. Without a word, he walked over to the high-backed wooden rocking chair at the far end of the room and lowered himself into it carefully, as if he was afraid he would break it. Folding his powerful arms over his barrel chest, the big football coach sat in silence for several long moments, staring at me. Finally he said "I wanted to 'pologize for th' way Ellis has been behavin'." Swallowing my mouthful of granola bar, I said "You have nothing to apologize for… you can't control him." Coach gave a heavy sigh and reached a hand up, massaging the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "I know," he said, lowering his hand after a moment. "I just felt like _someone _should try'n make amends." Standing up, he walked over and rested a meaty hand on my shoulder. "If he gives you any more trouble, you be sure'n let me know, okay?" He said, and left.

We decided to move on that afternoon, after everyone had eaten something. Bill didn't want to waste another minute in the search for Echo, and both Nick and Coach heartily agreed with him. The ground began sloping steadily upwards, and suburbs gave way to pine woods and rolling hills dotted with the occasional farmhouse or cabin. And it was cold. After several days up here, you'd think I'd have started to get used to it, but no. Up here in the northern wilderness made Philly in the winter seem positively warm, and my red sweater soon proved insufficient. Francis must have been suffering worse than me with his bare arms, but he made no mention of it, slogging along as determined as ever. Whenever he caught me looking at him, he flashed me a grin and stood a little straighter, as if trying to reassure me that he was fine. Coach and Ellis, both southern boys used to the broiling heat of Georgia, weren't even trying to hide their shivers. Ellis had scavenged a ratty old coat from our stay in the ranch house, but it didn't seem to be helping much.

As the group crested a particularly large hill, we broke out into a clearing and got a view of the terrain ahead of us. More woods. Francis groaned, and muttered "Goddamn it, I hate the woods." After a pause, he added "And Canada." "We know, Francis," Bill growled in a tone that brooked no further grumbling, and the group started off again. After about ten minutes, I had begun to take notice of the startling lack of zombies, and put on a burst of speed to catch up to Bill. "Shouldn't there be zombies here?" I whispered to him, and he nodded, saying "I know, and I don't like it one bit. It reminds me of how the Viet Cong would lead us into ambushes in 'Nam by pulling out of an area, leaving it empty to draw us in. Then they'd come out of the jungle from all sides." I glanced around nervously, suddenly picturing zombies bursting from the trees surrounding us. It wasn't a pleasant mental image.

After ten or twenty more minutes of walking - truth be told, I lost count - we stumbled upon an old English-looking manor house. A flight of ten concrete steps led up to the column-lined front porch, ending in an impressive double-door that stood open almost invitingly. "Hey ya'll, there might be supplies in there," Ellis said, pointing up the stairs to the open door. Bill shook his head, muttering "Too easy… too goddamn easy…" "Relax, Bill," Francis growled from directly behind me, making me jump. I hadn't realized he was there. "They're zombies, not soldiers. They're too damn stupid to lay traps for us." So saying he walked past us, unslinging his shotgun and racking the slide. Mounting the front steps, he walked up to the door, shotgun resting on his shoulder, whistling a tune. "Francis…" Bill hissed, gaze darting around. Francis took no notice, however, and walked through the open door into the manor house.

With a curse, I ran after him, taking the steps two at a time, pistols out and at the ready. The house was dark, long since having lost power. Francis was standing in the middle of the large entrance foyer, shotgun still resting lazily on his shoulder, staring up at the crystal chandelier, the balcony wrapping around the room above us. He was still whistling. Breaking off the tune as he took sight of me, he grinned and said "Nice place." Walking over to an antique chair that must have been worth at least a couple hundred bucks, Francis delivered a vicious kick to the unfortunate chair, snapping a leg off and sending it to the floor. Turning towards me and laughing, a shit-eating grin etched on his features, he said "Damn, but I've always wanted to break something that valuable." I couldn't help it. I started giggling, looking at that big man standing over the ruins of an extremely valuable chair and laughing. "You are a violent man," I said, walking over. "And you love it," he added, stepping forward to meet me and pulling me into a hug. Slowly disengaging, he walked back to the door and yelled "No vampires in here - all o' you ladies can come on in whenever you feel like it!"

That was when I heard it. A low, voiceless, soulless moan, seeming to come from all around. Francis froze in mid-yell, turning slowly to listen. The very floor seemed to shake as the moan, filled with an unspeakable hunger, echoed and reverberated around the huge room. "Uh, forget what I said!" Francis yelled over his shoulder, advancing back into the middle of the foyer. "What the hell?" he muttered, walking over and putting his ear to wall. His face paled. "Shit," he hissed, backing rapidly away from the wall. "What? What is it?" I said, heart racing. "Get out," he snarled, placing himself between me and the wall. When I didn't move, he yelled "_Get the hell out of this house now!_" That worked. I turned and raced out through the door, Francis close on my heels. Coach, half-way across the front porch, took in our expressions, cocked his shotgun, and said "What the hell's goin' on in there?" Francis walked up to him, close enough to touch him, and said, his voice barely above a whisper, "Tell everyone to move, fast as they can. There's God-knows-how-many vampires locked up in there, and it sounds like they're all tryin' to get out. And if we don't move - and I mean _now_ - we're gonna end up as their dinner.


	13. Berserker

Suddenly, Bill brushed past Coach and stormed up to Francis, positively fuming. Jabbing a finger into the biker's muscular chest, the army vet growled "God _damn _it Francis, I told you! I _goddamn_ told you a hundred times to be careful and not go charging ahead! How many _goddamn_ times now have you endangered our group with your senseless blundering!" Pausing only to take a breath, Bill continued "I swear to God, if this was the army I'd have you dishonorably discharged! In future, you _will_ listen to me, and you _will _be careful when I tell you to be goddamn careful! Do I make myself clear!"

If that outburst came from anyone else - except me, of course - I have no doubt that Francis would have beat them to a bloody pulp without hesitation. Since it was Bill, however, he just folded his arms over his chest and stared down at the older man, not saying anything. The two dominant alpha males locked eyes and spent several long moments just staring at each other, Bill almost ready to explode with rage, irritation and an 'I told you so' attitude, Francis cool and with 'get the hell out of my face, grandpa' exuding from every pore. I decided to intervene before the two men came to blows.

Stepping in between them, I put a hand on each of their chests and said "Guys, there'll be plenty of time for macho headbutting later. Right now, we sorta have some zombies coming after us that we need to run from." Bill blew out a long breath through his nose, then turned around and stalked off towards the rest of the group, shooting over his shoulder "Remember what I told you, dammit!" Francis stared after him for a long moment, face contorted into a withering, ice-cold glower. Then he shook himself, turned to me, and said "Alright, time to get outta here, babe!"

Matching action to words, our group took off at a run as soon as everyone was informed of the danger, fleeing from the decrepit old manor house. As I was beginning to lose sight of it through the trees, I heard the very distinctive splintering _CRACK_ of wood breaking. It was a sound that sent chills through me. The rest of the group heard it too, apparently, as Coach crossed himself, Ellis pulled his ballcap down farther and seemed to be whispering a prayer, Nick and Francis drew their guns - Bill's was already out - and Louis exchanged a panicked glance with Rochelle. "Here they come," I muttered, pulling back the slide on my pistol and listening to the satisfying 'click' as it snapped back into position.

Then they started appearing out of the woods behind us. First a trickle, a few particular fast sprinters pelting through the trees like hell itself were on their heels, bloody mouths agape, snarling and spitting with fury. These we gunned down with little effort, felling most of them in a matter of seconds. Then came a flood, a writhing, surging mass of undead flesh that spilled towards us like an oncoming tidal wave. "Ah, shit," Francis growled, unloading shell after shell into the oncoming swarm. "Francis…" I started to say, but he cut me off. "Save it, doll," he snarled, turning towards the oncoming horde, hand moving to the knife at his hip. "You can tell me when we're both safely in hell."

With a roar like an enraged bull, Francis counter-charged the oncoming press of zombies, knife springing from his belt and flashing in the feeble rays of sun that managed to penetrate the canopy of leaves overhead. His first strike felled three; the zombies were so closely packed that the long knife couldn't help but carve through several with each swing. His backstroke lopped the head off one and carved open the chest of a second. His third mighty sweep killed two more and lodged in the skull of a third, who promptly jerked backwards and yanked the knife from Francis's grip.

Cursing, I skidded to a halt and raised my pistol in a two-handed grip, taking carefully-aimed shots to support Francis. The big biker, his knife stolen, was fighting, once again, with his shotgun as an improvised club. It reminded me of things I'd heard about Viking berserkers - the fell light in his eyes, the raw, brutal, unforgiving power behind each blow; it was as if he was putting every single ounce of energy he possessed into the battle, heedless of the consequences. It was as if he didn't expect to live through it to feel those consequences.

It was about this time that the rest of the group took notice. Bill and Louis noticed first, halting and turning around to look and see where Francis was. "God _damn _it!" Bill yelled, running back to me and opening fire. Louis turned back and yelled "Shit! Guys, get back here!" The rest of the group turned to look, and as one, their eyes widened. Coach swore, Ellis doffed his cap, and Nick gave the raging biker an appraising look, muttering something that I couldn't make out at this range. Turning back to Francis, I noticed with alarm that his shotgun had broken in half, the broken pieces long since discarded. He was now surrounded by zombies, lashing out with anything and everything at his disposal - fists, feet, knees, elbows, shoulders, even his head were weapons in his arsenal. He was keeping the horde at bay and felling many of them, but I knew that even he couldn't keep it up for long.

And then Coach pushed past me, running towards Francis with a bellow of "Cover me!" I hastened to comply, running after him and picking off any zombies that got too close. As Coach reached the embattled biker, he broke through the zombies surrounding him like an offensive tackle shoving through the defensive line to get to the quarterback in a game of football. Reaching forward with a thick arm, he grabbed Francis by the collar and started hauling the big man back, Francis still trying to strike out at all the zombies along the way. The light of battle had not gone out of his eyes, and he snarled "Let go of me, god damn it! There's still plenty of vampires left!" "Shut up and run!" Coach boomed, turning Francis around and shoving him towards me before taking off at a full sprint back towards the rest of the group. Looking back, I noticed that Bill was holding something in his hand and waving at us, but from this distance I couldn't tell what it was.

"Come on!" I yelled, grabbing Francis by the wrist and tugging him along with me. He still cast furious glances over his shoulder occasionally, but he complied, putting on a burst of speed as Bill pulled back his arm and threw whatever it was he was holding. As it sailed past us, I caught a glimpse of a beer bottle with a flaming rag stuffed in the top. A Molotov cocktail. The bottle shattered on impact, spreading a curtain of fire that lapped hungrily at the infected charging through it. Flaming zombies stumbled around, howling and batting uselessly at the blaze that consumed them.

Francis stared into the crackling flames with a stricken expression. I almost laughed - the sight of Francis the badass looking like a child who just lost their favorite teddy bear was practically hilarious. Fortunately for me, I managed to maintain control, and said "What's wrong?"

Francis swallowed, and said "My… my knife is in there." "Come on, Francis," I said, slightly exasperated. "It's just a weap-…" However, he didn't even let me finish the word, lunging forward and taking a hold of my collar. "Just a weapon!" he snarled in my face. "That knife was given to me by Max, my brother, the day he died. It was a gift, something to help me kill these vampires. It's the knife I used to kill him - even in death, Max was a tough son of a bitch, and my bare fists didn't cut it." Tears were sparkling in his eyes, and I suddenly felt like an insensitive bitch. I feebly started to apologize, and Francis enveloped me in a crushing hug, his chest shuddering with silent sobs. "It… it was the only piece of him I had left," Francis whispered. "I even named it after him. And now it's gone too."

That night, we bedded down in an abandoned campground, fallen tents, food and various other supplies scattered about like discarded child's toys. Bill took first watch, and I could see him from where I lay, sitting on a crate of foodstuffs, silhouetted against the campfire we had made. I also saw Francis, sitting up in his sleeping bag, facing away from me. His bare, tattooed shoulders were hunched and his head was hanging low. I bit my lip in worry as I watched him - apparently losing his knife had hit him pretty hard.

After several long moments, I slithered out of my sleeping bag, snuck over and sat down beside Francis, putting an arm around his broad shoulders. Asking 'are you okay' would have been pointless given that I knew the answer - and it was a strong and definite 'no' - I merely said "Can I help?" He looked up at me, face mostly composed into his hardened, 'I'm-a-badass' mask once more. Shaking his head and letting the mask slip just a little, he said "It's just… first my parents, then Nicky, then Max… everyone I cared about is gone." Locking his piercing brown eyes with mine, he said, voice cracking "Don't you dare leave me too." Leaning forward, I planted a quick but tender kiss on his lips, ran a hand through the fuzz on the back of his head, and murmured "Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."


	14. Unsafe Zone

**Hey ya'll, really sorry this chapter took so long to finish. I was busy writing like crazy for NaNoWriMo (that's National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't know, go Google it) and didn't have much creative juice to spare at all during November. I feel terrible about leaving you people hanging, and I hope you enjoy this latest chapter!**

The next week or so went by as a blur of trees, rolling hills and the endless chill that bit through my red sweatshirt and into my very bones. An endless, grinding slog uphill as we ascended into the Canadian mountains, punctuated by occasional encounters with wandering zombies who had strayed from the cities in search of food. Time rolled by in a monotonous rhythm, and I had long since lost track of the days.

It was early morning when we finally reached the outskirts of the Echo safe zone. And it was raining. Water sliced down from the heavens in a curtain so thick it obscured sight, the freezing drops cutting into my hands and face like razorblades. I shivered in the frigid downpour, rubbing my hands together in a feeble attempt to warm them. Francis walked beside me, shoulders hunched, hugging himself. In that sleeveless shirt of his, he must have been freezing, but he didn't complain.

Our first sign of military presence was a barbed-wire-topped fence, lined at the base with sandbags, stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions, blocking our path. "Well, shit," Francis said, and I could tell it was an effort to stop his teeth from chattering. "Looks like we found it." "Damn right," Coach said, grinning and making no attempt to hide his shivers. "I cannot _wait _to get out of this damn rain," Nick grumbled, wiping his rain-slick hair away from his eyes. "My suit is completely _soaked_." "Cry me a river," Francis snarled, in no mood for Nick's complaining. I sighed, and said "Let's just try to find a way in, shall we?"

The entrance, as it turned out, was about half a mile away, uphill. It was rather obvious once we saw it; a large chain-link gate flanked by concrete-based wooden guard towers with corrugated metal roofs. From the windows in the front of the guard towers protruded the eight-barreled maws of miniguns, and in front of the gate was piled a mound of corpses. "See? See?" Nick said, jabbing a finger at the unmoving guns and the corpses piled against the closed gate. "What did I tell you? They're all dead. We walked all this way for nothing." "We don't know that, Nick," Coach said, his tone placating. Francis glared daggers at Nick and growled something incomprehensible, Bill sighed and adjusted his beret, and Rochelle turned away, hugging herself - and not just from the cold. "Come on," Bill said, shouldering his assault rifle with a sigh. "Let's go see for ourselves."

We had to clamber over a veritable field of bullet-riddled corpses to get to the gate, a task which had everyone except Francis and Bill gagging. Bill just had that same, gruff, seen-it-all-before look on his face, and Francis just looked disgruntled by the fact that his footing was unsure. Once we reached the gate, Coach stepped up and boomed "Hello! Anyone there! We're not infected!" There was no response, and Nick scoffed. He was about to make a scathing remark when from out of the rain-obscured fog inside the base came a harsh staccato crackle, and bullets whizzed and hissed past us. I yelped and dived to the side as I bullet singed my cheek with the heat of its passing, and Francis grabbed me, twisting around to put his huge frame between me and the bullets.

"What the hell are they doing!" Francis bellowed as we dived for cover. "What does it look like!" Bill shot back, flicking the safety on his rifle off. Francis, Rochelle, Coach and I hunkered down behind the concrete base of the guard tower, and I flinched as a bullet slapped the corner of it, blowing a fist-sized chunk of concrete out of the wall. Bill, Nick, Ellis and Louis took cover behind the other guard tower, and Bill started returning fire, holding his rifle out past the edge and spraying long, un-aimed bursts in the general direction of our attackers.

Suddenly, something small, round and metallic landed next to me, rolling along on the field of corpses before coming to rest not five feet from me. I heard Francis curse beside me, and he shoved me out of the way with alarming strength, taking two strides forward, snatching up the object and hurling it away with all his might.

He wasn't quite fast enough. The grenade detonated too close to him, and the huge biker was picked up like a rag doll and thrown a good ten feet by the force of the blast, landing hard and rolling a few times in the wet grass before coming to an awkward stop. With a cry, I picked myself up off the ground and ran towards him, keeping low to avoid the bullets that whizzed and hissed around us.

As I neared, I saw Francis move, and relief flooded through me. Getting his hands underneath him, the biker pushed himself to his hands and knees with considerable effort, then collapsed with a snarled curse. "Ah, shit," he growled as I skidded to a halt next to him. Looking up at me, he put on a devil-may-care smile - which quickly turned into a pained grimace - and said, his voice tight with pain, "Hey, babe. Mind givin' me a hand?"

Taking his proffered hand in both of mine, I hauled with all my might, and felt his fingers tighten around mine as he did the same. It surprised me how heavy he was - Francis was not a fat man, but with all that muscle he must have weighed almost three hundred pounds. When he was about halfway to his feet, Francis let out a gasp, his face going pale. "Shit!" he hissed, falling to one knee and clutching at his side. "Must have broken a rib or two!"

He must have seen the worry etched on my face, because he waved a dismissive hand at me, and growled "Go on, girl! I'll be fine!" I wasn't sure if he was telling the truth or if he was simply being his overly-macho, 'tough guy' self, but I turned away to survey the battle unfolding around me.

Bill was yelling at Nick, but over the gunfire I couldn't hear what he was talking about. Ellis was reaching around the base of the tower, firing blind at the soldiers. A bullet grazed his arm, gouging a bloody furrow in the southerner's flesh. With a yelp, Ellis dropped his gun and jerked his arm back, clutching his bloody arm and groaning. Nick and Louis rushed over, the former whipping out his first aid kit and the latter unscrewing the top on a bottle of pain pills.

My attention was suddenly wrenched elsewhere as Bill yelled "Francis! Catch!" I looked over to see a pipe bomb sail through the air, spinning end over end, towards the biker who had just now regained his feet. Looking up, Francis snatched the explosive out of the air, and looked down at the flickering glow of the lit fuse.

He almost dropped the bomb. Managing to keep a hold of the lit explosive, Francis pulled his mighty arm back and lobbed the pipe bomb with all the strength he could muster towards the enemy soldiers. Turning towards Bill as the bomb sailed away, he bellowed "_Are you completely out of your fu-…_"

The bomb detonated with a thunderous roar, and fire blossomed outward in a roiling cloud on the far side of the fence. The shockwave rattled the chain-link gate, and the gunfire abruptly ceased. My ears still rang from the constant clatter, and I slumped against the concrete wall, sliding down it to sit on the mat of corpses beneath me. Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment of rest.

I opened my eyes to find Francis standing over me, holding a hand to his side and grimacing. "Hey, babe," he said, and held out his free hand. I took it gratefully, and the big biker hauled me to my feet, pulling me in briefly for a hug that almost crushed the breath out of me. Returning the gesture while carefully avoiding his injured side, I briefly buried my face in his chest. I was briefly overwhelmed by the mixed aroma of leather and sweat, and it was a welcome change from the stench of death that hung over the place. I felt one of Francis's hands idly running through my hair, and I muttered into his chest "I'm just tired, Francis… tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of this damn apocalypse…"

"I know," Francis whispered, planting a quick kiss on the top of my head before releasing me and walking away, towards the rest of the group. All of them except Bill were huddled around Ellis, who was sitting on the ground, cradling his thoroughly-bandaged arm.

"Hot damn, it stings," the southerner drawled as we approached. "Sorta reminds me of this one time mah buddy Keith an' I went fishin', an' I got a fishin' hook stuck right through the back of my hand! Y'see, Keith'd never fished b'fore, an' he thought that…" Nick gave the boy a hard glare, and Ellis shut his mouth with an audible 'snap', giving the con man an apologetic smile. Shaking his head, Nick stood up and walked over to us as we approached.

"That kid would tell stories at his own funeral," Nick said with a wry smile, folding his arms over his chest. "If he doesn't shut up soon, we're gonna be puttin' that joke to the test," Francis growled, glaring down at Ellis, who was launching into a prolonged monologue about something he and his buddy Dave had done once. I tuned him out, and turned to Francis to say something, when I stopped, and listened carefully. Holding a finger in Ellis's general direction in the universal 'quiet' gesture, I hissed "Everyone shut up!"

Everyone turned to look at me with startled expressions, but they all shut up like I had asked. I stood completely still, straining my ears to pick out the sound I had heard. And then I heard it again - over the pounding of the rain, the creaking of the gate, and the whispering of the wind, I could hear a faint, slightly fuzzy voice saying "Falcon 7, Falcon 7, come in! Repeat, come in Falcon 7, this is Delta Command!"

I looked at Francis. He looked at me. No one said anything for a full ten seconds, and then Louis gave a whoop of joy. A grin split Francis's features, and I could feel myself grinning back. Walking over, Francis grabbed me around the waist and lifted me into the air, planting a firm kiss on my lips. I felt excited, almost giddy. All we had to do was climb a fence, and we were home free.


	15. A Fighting Chance

Francis put me down gently, and ran over to the gate, wincing every time he pulled on his broken ribs. I followed him, and saw - to my chagrin - that the gate had been locked with a padlock and heavy chain. Francis bit his lip in thought for a moment, then turned to me and said "C'mere, doll." Without thinking much of it, I obeyed, and he squatted down, wrapping his thick arms around my thighs. I gave a little yelp of surprise, and he stood up, shoving me upwards until I was able to take hold of the top of the gate. Looking down, I said "Are you sure this is wise?" He waved a dismissive hand, and gave me a last shove that sent me up far enough to haul myself over and drop down the other side.

The gate must have been ten feet tall, and the landing was hard enough to make my shins ache, but I hit the ground running, looking around for the radio. I was in a military compound, with a high fence running along to my left, bordering a huge field of tents that stretched as far as I could see. I thought I could see dim shapes shambling about between the tents, but I had more pressing things to worry about.

To my right was a large, rectangular concrete structure, sporting slit windows and large, sliding metal doors. In between the tents and the building - where I was running - was a large, open dirt area, scattered with groups of tables and chairs, and Humvees sitting lifeless and inert amidst them. It was on one of these tables that my objective sat; a two-way ham radio, a static-punctuated voice crackling from the speaker.

Skidding to a halt in front of the radio, I snatched up the handset, mashing the 'talk' button with my thump and half-screaming "Hello! Hello! Is there anyone there!" There was a long pause, and then the voice came back, crackling with static. "Holy shit! Someone survived! What is your name and rank, soldier?" I paused briefly, an image coming to mind of Francis standing in the boathouse in Riverside, yelling into the radio "This is the cops!" Shaking away the amusing image, I thumbed the 'talk' button and said "I'm, uh, not a soldier, sir! My name is Zoey, and I'm with a group of seven other civilian survivors!"

There was another long pause, then the soldier on the other end said "Very well. We'll be dispatching a S&R team from Delta to pick you up. They'll be there in approximately fifteen minutes. God be with you." There was a click, and the radio went silent.

I tore back to the gate as fast as my aching legs would take me, pausing only long enough to glance at a smoking blast crater that I assumed was from Bill's pipe bomb. I grimaced as I caught sight of a few charred giblets laying about, and I saw a humvee nearby, its doors standing open, with 'PURGE' stenciled on its hood and side doors in red. An M60 was mounted atop it as a turret, lying dormant with a dead man in military fatigues hanging over it. Shell casings littered the ground around it.

Pausing only a moment to consider the mystery of what 'PURGE' could mean, I scrambled over a makeshift barricade of wooden crates and skidded to a halt in front of the gate. The rest of the group had gathered there, and Francis was straining at the chain with both hands, feet planted on the gate, the corded muscles on his arms standing out as he pulled with all his might.

Relaxing and taking a few steps backwards, Francis let out a string of virulent curses that would have appalled my mother and growled "Goddamn chain is too strong. You'd need a pair of bolt cutters to get through that." Glancing around, I caught sight of an open door into the nearby concrete bunker-like building, and, figuring there might be a key inside, made for it at a run.

The interior of the bunker was dark as a tomb, and I fumbled for my flashlight. Flicking it on, I held it in one hand and my pistol in the other, waving the pale beam around to illuminate my surroundings. I was standing in a rectangular concrete room of medium size, Spartan in its accommodations and lined on one wall with lockers.

A gurgling growl rumbled from the darkness to my left, and I whipped around, the beam from my wavering flashlight landing on an infected in military fatigues lurching towards me, slowed by a maimed leg that left a trail of blood behind it. Grimacing, I raised my pistol and put two rounds into the zombie's head, the gunshots booming out as loud as doomsday in the enclosed, concrete-walled space.

Blood splattered, and the zombie keeled over backwards, landing in a sprawled heap in an expanding pool of blood. Turning, I caught sight of a desk by the door. It had been shoved into a corner, appearing almost like an afterthought, and had apparently once been stacked with papers. The papers now lay scattered about on the floor, surrounding an overturned chair and splattered with blood. I caught sight of a glint of metal on the wall above the desk, and trained my flashlight on it. It was a keyring.

Charging over, I snatched the ring of keys off the hook that it hung on, trying to juggle it, my gun and my flashlight as I fled the building. Running flat-out for the gate, on the other side of which I could see the rest of my group - and I Francis and Nick going at it again - I skidded to a halt, letting my flashlight fall to the ground and setting to work on the padlock.

It took six tries to find the right key, but finally one of them slid in and turned. The padlock popped open, and I slid the chain free, tossing it aside. Coach stepped forward and shoved the gate open, walking inside with a "Thank you kindly, ma'am." The rest of our ragtag band followed, and Francis gave me a wink and a pat on the arm as he walked past.

Bill stopped briefly beside the mysterious humvee, scratching his beard and muttering "What the hell is this horseshit? I've never heard of 'PURGE'…" "Ooh!" Ellis interjected, running up to stand beside the veteran. "Y'know, mah buddy Keith had a brother named Rick, an' he was in the army! Keith talked 'bout it all the time, an' this one time, right 'fore the infection hit Savannah, Keith said that his…"

"If you've got a point, make it," Bill growled, taking a puff from his cigarette. Ellis, looking a little downcast, gave Bill a nod and said "Well, Rick called Keith on the phone, an' said he was goin' off to join 'PURGE'." All eyes in the group turned to Ellis, and he rubbed the back of his neck nervously before adding "I didn't know what th' hell it meant back then." The southerner's brows knit in a frown, and he added "And, well, I guess I still don't."

Bill blew out his breath in a sigh, sending a cloud of cigarette smoke billowing outward, and growled "Well, let's get a move on. Every zombie within a dozen miles will have heard that gunfire, and we need to find somewhere to hole up and wait for rescue. Coach nodded, and said "Sounds good. Ya'll go find yourselves a safe spot. Me an' Bill will stay here an' keep watch 'til you find one." Bill nodded in gruff consent, and the rest of the group started off at a jog. I trailed along behind them, casting nervous glances at the humvee and its bold, blood-red stencil. Shrugging off my feelings of unease, I picked up my pace and caught up to the rest of the group, just as they slid to a halt in front of an open door in the side of the base.

It was large enough to fit a humvee through easily, which made me think it was a garage. This thought was reinforced as I caught sight of the looming silhouette of a vehicle crouched inside, its headlights glinting dully from the shadows. "Cover me," Nick said, walking forward into the gloom with a flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other. The dim, wavering beam of the flashlight swept about the darkened interior of the garage, flicking across the partially-rusted metal I-beams spanning the ceiling, the concrete walls stained with water and other, fouler things, and a concrete stoop leading up to a metal door, painted dark grey and sporting 'ARMORY' stenciled on it in red.

Francis, Nick and Ellis simultaneously broke into huge, wolfish grins, and Francis growled "_That's_ what I'm talkin' about." Nick started forward, and tried the door handle. It didn't budge, so he knelt down, fishing about in his pockets for what I assumed was a set of lockpicks. However, Francis shoved past him with a curt "'Scuse me, suit," brought a foot up and gave the door a vicious kick. The lock snapped, and the door flew open, banging against the wall with a crash.

Nick shot the larger man a withering glare, and muttered "Thanks a lot, greaseball. Any zombies that weren't attracted to the gunfire will have heard that god-awful racket for sure." "Aw, shaddup, Colonel Sanders," Francis shot back, walking through the now-open door. "Yer just jealous. Pansy-ass fancy-pants like you couldn't kick down a door if he-…" "Hello? Morons?" Rochelle cut in, stepping between the two quarreling men. "Bill and Coach are waiting for us. Let's get a move on!"


	16. Our Final Stand

"Hell yes," Francis purred from somewhere behind me. "This is what I call a gun."

I turned to see him cradling - almost as one would cradle a baby - a large, slightly odd-looking weapon. It didn't look terribly imposing; it bore a smooth metal skin, and was slightly tapered toward the front, with a pistol grip and a large, round magazine. Tilting my head to one side, I said "It doesn't look like much… what is it?"

"Babe," Francis said, walking over to me. "This is an AA12. It's a fully-automatic shotgun." He worked the bolt, leveled it at an imaginary target, and continued "This baby can fire shotgun shells - yes, buckshot - as fast as Bill's favorite toy can fire bullets."

This last remark caused Nick to look over from where he was working the bolt on a huge sniper rifle. Giving Francis a contemptuous sneer, the conman said "Yeah, well your precious 'AA12' can't shoot through concrete walls like this Barrett, can it, grease ball?". Suppressing a grin at the two men's rivalry, I turned back to the weapon racks as Francis started in on a venomous retort. Perusing through more types of weapons than I knew existed, I finally selected a compact sub-machine gun that looked deadly enough, sporting a large clip positioned behind the grip, and a laser sight.

As I passed Ellis, he glanced down at my weapon and said "AUG, huh? Good choice. Y'know, mah buddy Keith wanted one a' those fer his eighteenth birthday, but his ma thought it was too dangerous, so he-…" Rochelle took hold of his arm and gently tugged him away, and I have his receding back a blank stare.

By the time we got back to Bill and Coach, the infected had started to gather. The two men were picking off the few zombies that got within their range, but I could hear the howls of countless more closing in from every direction. Walking up to Coach, Francis grinned and said "Merry Christmas."

With a grunt of effort, the biker tossed a huge machine gun in Coach's direction. The thing probably weighed as much as a smallish dog, but Coach caught it with only a mild grimace and a 'whoof' of expelled breath. Grinning back, the big football coach held the huge belt-fed gun up for inspection and said "An M60? But I didn't get you anything!"

Chuckling, Francis gave the big man an affectionate swat on the shoulder as he walked past, staring out through the chain-link fence. Louis passed Bill a sleek, high-tech-looking assault rifle, and Francis gave the ominous, rain-soaked woodland outside a feral grin. "This is gonna be good," he growled, and cocked his prized shotgun.

The first wave hit within a minute. They came swarming out of the woods like insects, their eyes glinting red in the dim light. There were at least fifty or sixty of them, and I took a knee beside Francis, raising my SMG to my shoulder and squeezing the trigger.

Firing off short, precise bursts, I felled zombies in droves as my compact weapon spat death from its slim muzzle. Soon, however, the AUG - as Ellis had called it - clicked empty, and I ejected the magazine with a muttered curse. Snatching another from my makeshift bandolier of them, I jammed it into my waiting gun and looked up at the horde before us.

The combined fire from all eight of us was tearing the zombies to shreds. None made it within ten feet of the fence, and I felt a surge of exultant joy. Nothing could stop us - we were home free. All we had to do was hold out long enough for the Army to get here. And with our new toys, it would be like playing at a shooting range.

No sooner had I thought this than the piercing cry of a hunter rent the air. Then another. And another. "What the hell!" Francis growled, wheeling around in search of the source of the feral howls. "There, on the rooftops!" Rochelle yelled over the din of battle, and I followed her pointing finger in time to spot five shadowy figures skulking atop the roof of a nearby bunker.

I trained my weapon on them and fired off a long burst, bullets slapping into the squat building and throwing up puffs of concrete dusts. The hunters vanished over the roof, and I uttered a litany of curses that would have made my father turn in his grave. "We may have a problem!" I said, and Bill shot back "We have more than one!"

I turned around just in time to see the huge, bloated form of a tank smash through the chain-link fence as if it was wet paper. It swatted aside Nick, who was the closest to it, slamming the conman into the concrete wall of the adjacent bunker. Slumping to the ground and clutching at what I guessed were a few broken ribs, Nick uttered some extremely inventive curses through teeth clenched with pain as he fumbled one-handed with the bolt on his Barrett.

Coach turned and let the tank have a barrage from his M60 as it turned towards him, the huge gun roaring and bucking in his hands as it chewed through flesh and muscle, sending a fountain of blood and giblets exploding outward from the tank's back. With a howl of pain and rage, the tank closed the distance in mere seconds, picking up the big man and flinging him in my direction.

I dove out of the way as Coach sailed past, hitting the ground and rolling for a good twenty feet before coming to an awkward, bouncing stop. One arm was twisted behind him at an odd angle and his face was contorted with pain, but he still tried to struggle to his feet.

Then the rest of us opened up, our guns belching hot, furious death. The tank went down flailing beneath a hail of lead, and I ran over to help Coach get up.

That was when the first hunter appeared. With a screech of animalistic hunger, it launched itself from a nearby rooftop, slamming into my back with enough force to send me to the ground. I wriggled and writhed for all I was worth, but the hunter was straddling my waist, pinning me to the ground. I felt its hot breath on my throat, heard it hiss in anticipation of a hot, fresh meal as its slavering jaws opened wide…

And suddenly the weight was lifted from my back. Rolling over and whipping my twin pistols from their holsters, I watched as Francis literally picked the hunter up, raised it over his head, and brought it down with a roar. It slammed head-first into the ground, and I could hear the bone crunch even over the din of battle around us.

Then another hunter dropped from directly above us, landing on Francis's back and driving him to one knee. He bellowed a string of imprecations as the hunter tore at his back and shoulders, and as quickly as I could I took aim and put two rounds through the beast's forehead.

It slumped backwards off of him, and he grinned his thanks at me. In addition to the water pouring from the churning sky above, blood now flowed freely down Francis's arms from deep gouges just beneath his shoulders, and I hurried over to him, pulling out my first-aid kit. The bandages were soaked, but they would have to do, and I hastily tied them around the bloody wounds.

Experimentally rolling his powerful shoulders, Francis gave me a quick hug and whispered "Thanks, babe." "Any time," I replied, but we were forced apart as Louis yelled "Shit! Oh, shit, shit, shit!" Sighing, Francis turned around to see what was going on. Stepping out from the big man's shadow, I looked out upon the scene of battle, and my eyes went wide.

Nick, severely wounded by the tank and almost unable to move, was crawling across the grass towards the rest of the group. Behind him was a howling mob of infected, pouring through the gate and the hole in the fence. There must have been hundreds of them out in the woods, enough that their roars and screams reverberated around the abandoned army camp like thunder.

"Chase this, you sons a' bitches!" I heard Ellis yell, and then a pipe bomb sailed over our heads, bouncing off the head of one of the advancing zombies and landing amidst the mob. Rochelle charged forward while the zombies were distracted, hauling a white-faced Nick to his feet and running back toward us with his arm over her shoulders.

The pipe bomb detonated. Blood and zombie bits fountained into the sky over an expanding ball of fire, and Ellis let out a whoop. And then a pair of headlights slashed through the gloom, settling on the horde now pouring through the fence again. What sounded like a heavy machine gun opened up on full-auto, and the infected were torn to pieces as explosive rounds scythed through their ranks. We all turned to look, and what I saw was, at that moment, the most beautiful sight I had ever laid eyes on.

"You all comin' or what?" yelled the driver of the huge Army APC that sat a few hundred yards behind us.


	17. Out of the Frying Pan

"Go, go, go!" Bill yelled above the clamor, pushing Louis and Ellis ahead of him as he ran for the APC. Coach let off one last burst from his M60 before turning and following, Rochelle and Nick close on his heels.

"Come on, doll," Francis said, turning towards me with fire in his eyes. "This is one ride we don't want to miss."

Without waiting a second longer, I turned and set off at a dead run for the APC's waiting hatch. I pounded across the grass, Francis right behind me, the infected behind us howling like blood-crazed wolves as they closed in.

I wasn't more than ten feet away from the APC when I felt the smoker's tongue twine around my ankle like a cold, slimy bullwhip. With a startled gasp, I was yanked off my feet, landing on my face in the wet grass with enough force to send stars wheeling in my vision and knock my gun out of my hands.

Spitting grass and dirt, I clutched at the ground for purchase, but the rain had turned it slippery. A strong, thick-fingered hand wrapped around my wrist, but that too slid off of my rain-slick skin as I was dragged backwards, and I heard Francis utter a string of virulent curses somewhere above me.

I felt something in my ankle snap as the tongue tightened its grip, and hissed in a breath as pain shot up my leg. Two gunshots rang out, sharp and loud, somewhere close, and the vice-like grip on my ankle went slack.

Gingerly, Francis helped me to my feet and slung one of my arms around his powerful shoulders. Together, we started off towards the waiting APC, my mind lurching with each new shot of pain that stabbed into me as I walked.

"Shit, they're too close," Francis growled, and passed me off to Coach, who was standing by the open door of the APC, laying down covering fire. As the big man helped me into the vehicle, I turned to look back as Francis hefted his prized AA12, the howling swarm bearing down on him. They weren't more than fifteen feet away, and my heart skipped a beat as Francis actually took a step towards them.

Then he opened fire. With a staccato roar, the shotgun in his hands belched flame like a dragon, and I saw the muscles in Francis's arms tense as he absorbed the recoil. The buckshot rounds, fired off at machine-gun speeds, literally tore the oncoming horde apart. Guts sprayed, bones shattered and limbs were ripped from their bodies as, in a matter of seconds, the onrushing horde was reduced to bloody shreds.

"And that," Francis said, dropping the empty magazine as he jogged for the APC, "Is why I love this gun."

I only allowed myself a sigh of relief once we had all seated ourselves on the metal bench seats in the belly of the APC and the hatch had hissed shut. Leaning back against the cold wall and closing my eyes, I tried to ignore the pain in my ankle, but failed as the APC jostled, smacking my foot against the ground and sending daggers of pain up my leg.

Snarling imprecations through clenched teeth, I attracted the attention of both Coach and Francis, seated on either side of me. Coach knelt down in front of me to inspect my leg, and Francis took one of my hands in one of his, brushing a lock of hair out of my face with the other before giving me a quick kiss, the brush of his lips against mine sending shivers of pleasure up my spine.

"Well," Coach said, and I winced as he gently probed my leg, "Don't look broken… jus' cracked. Don't worry, girl, I seen my share of ankle injuries coachin' football."

With hands surprisingly deft for their size and bulk, Coach crafted a makeshift splint for my ankle with materials from his first aid kit, then wrapped it with gauze to hold it in place and stood up, dusting his hands off. "Now you take it easy for a few days, young'un," the big man said, then gave me a quick pat on the thigh before sitting back down on the bench.

Bill stood up with a grunt, stumbling as the APC ran over some obstruction. Walking over to the closed door at the front of the compartment, he rapped twice on it and said "Where we headed, soldier?"

There was a long pause, then a slot in the door slid aside, to reveal a soldier in a gas mask that obscured his face. His voice muffled and warped by the mask he wore, the soldier said "Sir, we're heading to Foxtrot Bunker. Echo and Delta were both overrun, so the military - or what's left of it - has decided to hole up and wait out the storm."

The slot clicked shut, and Bill slid back down onto one of the seats. With something between a sigh and a chuckle, Nick said "See, guys? The whole freakin' world's gone to shit. What did I keep telling you?"

"Y'know, much as I hate Prince Pessimist over there bitching all the time, I'm gonna have to agree with him on this one," Francis said, leaning back against the wall with his hands behind his head. Nick shot him a glare that could scald the paint off a car, but said nothing.

I hadn't realized that I'd fallen asleep until I was jostled awake when the APC ran over a particularly large bump. Lifting my head from Francis's shoulder, I stretched luxuriously, enjoying the safety of the armored hull around us.

Then I noticed that I could hear gunfire outside, muffled by the APC's thick armor. At first I assumed that it was our drivers shooting at zombies, but then I recoiled as the hull resounded with the distinct whip-crack sound of a bullet hitting home.

"What the hell?" Francis growled, turning to look as if he could see something through the metal skin of the vehicle. Through the door in the front of the cabin, I could hear the voice of our driver, speaking into a radio. "Valkyrie Alpha, this is Valkyrie Charlie… do you have a visual on the shooter? Over."

Then the vehicle swerved violently, and someone yelled through the radio "Shit! Vakylrie Alpha's been hit by RPG-fire! All Valkyries, weapons hot! Weapons ho-…"

Then, with a great, rending crash, the world went sideways.

I slowly, groggily became aware that I wasn't dead. With effort, I blinked my sticky eyelids open, revealing a fuzzy, unfocused world. My head felt like it had been hit with a shovel, the splint had come off my ankle - which was throbbing again - and it felt like a few ribs had been cracked. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a pained groan.

Blinking a few times, I put a hand to my face and it came away smeared with blood. I rolled over onto my stomach, and as I painfully pushed myself onto my hands and knees I realized with a jolt that I was kneeling on the APC's ceiling. Coughing a few times, I looked around, spotting all seven of my compatriots lying scattered about. Most of them were slowly returning to consciousness, but Louis and Ellis lay motionless. The slow rising and falling of their chests revealed that they weren't dead, just unconscious, and I blew out a long, relieved breath as I realized that everyone was still alive.

"Zoey?" came Francis's voice, hoarse and tight with pain, from somewhere to my left. "You there, doll?"

Whirling, I crawled over as fast as my bruised limbs would let me, and my heart lurched as I saw the large crimson stain soaking through his muscle shirt. "Don't worry, Francis," I said, taking one of his large, thick-fingered hands in both of mine. "I'm right here."

A smile tugged up at the big man's bloody lips, and he croaked "I'd ask for painkillers, but I don't think they'd help with this. Just… help me sit up, would you, love?"

I did so, taking a firmer hold of his arm and hauling on it. His weight surprised me, but with my help he managed to get into a sitting position. Reaching up, he ran a hand over his scalp, groaning. "What the hell happened?" he said, and I just shook my head, turning around and sitting down next to him. He wrapped a powerful arm around my shoulders and I leaned against him, wincing as I pulled on my damaged ribs.

"Come on, ladies," Bill said, but his voice was strained and raw, just like the rest of us, and I turned to see him standing unsteadily, leaning on the wall for support. "Quit sleeping on the job, we gotta move!"

"Hold yer horses, old man," Francis growled, grabbing his shotgun, planting the stock on the floor and using it to haul himself to his feet. He wobbled a bit, but remained upright. I tried to follow suit, but my ankle screamed in protest and I collapsed again, cursing.

Then I felt strong arms around me, and with a grunt of effort Francis hefted me in his arms bridal-style. I would have complained about the indignity of being carried around, but I was too tired and in too much pain to care.

As Francis walked over to the rest of the group, Bill was rousing Louis, and Nick was trying to get Ellis back on his feet, with limited success. One of the southerner's arms had been broken in the impact, and his legs were unsteady beneath him.

Walking over to the hatch, Coach unlocked it with a grunt of effort - the bolt was bent a bit from the force of the crash - and pushed on the door. When it didn't move, he threw his shoulder against it, with similar results. Setting me down gingerly, Francis murmured "Sit here a moment, babe," and walked over to help Coach with the door.

With the two big, muscular men working together, the resistant hatch was forced open, and Francis retrieved me again. This time I had regained enough energy to grumble a little about it, and Francis grinned down at me as he carried me out into the open air. The sight that met my eyes stunned me.

We were on a mountain road, curving around the side of a comparatively shallow slope. To our left, the land rolled downwards, dotted with pines. And to our right it climbed to a rocky, jagged peak. All around us, APCS and humvees had been strewn about, turned on their sides or just blown up. Some were still on fire, others merely smoldering.

"Who the hell did this?" Louis said groggily, being helped out of the overturned APC by Bill.

"More importantly," Nick said, looking around with something between frustration and fear in his eyes, "What the hell are we gonna do now?"

"Only one thing we can do," Bill said. "Keep going."


	18. Seperation

**Two days later:**

"Hey guys, looks like there's an outpost up there!" Louis said, voice laced with barely-restrained hope.

Following his pointing finger, my eyes rested on a squat, rectangular blot atop a nearby cliff, darker against the dark sky. A single searchlight slashed through the ebon veil, sweeping back and forth like a signal flag.

My heart sped up a little. We'd been trekking along this God-forsaken mountain road for the better part of two days now, winding slowly southward through rolling peaks and craggy valleys and scavenging what we could from abandoned vehicles.. We had seen no signs of life other than stray cars and trucks since we left the wreckage of the military convoy, and even a forlorn bunker was a hopeful sign.

"Oh, thank God," Rochelle breathed, closing her eyes for a moment.

"You think they got some food?" Coach said, a gleam in his eye.

"Oh good," Nick drawled, voice dripping with scorn, "They'll probably mistake us for zombies and shoot us… if anyone's still alive in there."

"Well, we won't know until we look," Bill said, starting off. "Let's find a way up there."

-O-

"Deserted. See? What did I say?" Nick said, standing in the middle of the room, arms akimbo. His Barrett was slung across his back, and a malicious grin of vindictive satisfaction split his features.

"Shut up, Suit," Francis growled, folding his arms over his chest and slumping against a nearby wall.

It was true, though - the outpost was deserted. The corpses of what must have been a hundred-odd zombies were piled against the exterior fence, and a pair of bloody tire tracks led away, into the woods. The only building in the place, a squat concrete bunker, contained only overturned tables, scattered papers and dead zombies.

"Alright people, spread out," Bill said, walking over to an upright desk and sorting through the papers scattered about atop it. "Search the room, see if you can find anything useful."

And so we did. Each of us picked a spot and started sifting through papers, pulling open desks and rummaging through filing cabinets jammed to bursting with manila envelopes. I had gone through several dozen inventory lists, casualty reports and military briefings and was on the verge of giving up hope when Ellis piped up.

"Hey ya'll, I found somethin'!" the southerner yelled out, and I looked over to see him holding up a sheet of paper with a triumphant grin on his face.

We all came over to take a look, and Louis let out an appreciative whistle. My heart almost skipped a beat as I read the crisp, ordered handwriting.

_Looks like the reports coming in of a refugee city in Infected country might have been true. On a recon flight, one of my pilots radioed in about a mass of scrap cobbled together to form houses. He said there were hundreds of dwellings, almost a proper city. They fired on him, but he got away._

After a few long moments of silence, I said, my voice barely above a whisper, "There are more survivors out there? And from the sounds of it… a lot more!"

Coach rubbed his chin with a meaty hand, and said "I dunno… ya'll see what it says here? 'They fired on him.' I don' like the sound of that."

"I almost hate to say it, but I agree with Coach," Nick said, from the back of the group. "We go there, and we'll get shot. I guarantee it."

"Yeah, well, a few weeks ago you said th' Army was gunna shoot us, an' they didn't!" Ellis burst out, taking a step towards his comrade.

"Yeah?" Nick said, voice dripping with contempt, "And look how that turned out! Sure, they didn't shoot us, but they dumped us in the middle of a goddamn pine swamp!"

I sighed, massaging the bridge of my nose. This constant bickering was giving me a headache.

"The rest of you can do whatever the hell you want," Francis growled, taking an aggressive stance right next to me and putting a hand on my shoulder, "But I'm stickin' with Zoey. Sure, there's a chance we could get shot, but how's that any worse than what we're facing out here?"

Reaching up, I gave Francis's hand a little squeeze in thanks, and he wrapped a thick arm protectively around my shoulders, glaring around as if worried that one of the onlookers was going to try to pry me away. I smiled wryly at the thought - I loved Francis to death, but he could be a bit overprotective of me at times.

Louis looked like he was wracked with indecision, but Bill stepped over to stand next to us. "Can't just let you two wander around by yourselves, can I?" he said, flashing an amused smile at us around the cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Well," Rochelle said, fastidiously checking the load on the Desert Eagle she carried, "Looks like it's time to go our separate ways."

"Gotta agree," Coach added, walking up and extending a hand to Bill, who took it and winced at the big football coach's crushing grip. "It's been great travelin' with ya'll. If this whole 'immune city' thing don't work out, come find us. We'll be holed up wherever this 'Foxtrot Bunker' is."

"Will do," Bill said, stepping back and snapping a salute. "Good luck and godspeed, soldier."

-O-

"Everyone," Francis growled, wrenching his booted foot free of the root he had gotten it lodged in, "I just want you all to know… I'm starting to hate this plan."

And, truth be told, so was I. So far, it had gotten us nowhere except lost in a dark forest of bare trees and tangled roots, following obscure directions scrounged from military reports. Bill's compass had been broken in the APC crash, so the only thing we had to gauge direction with was the moon, pale and wan overhead.

"Hey guys!" came Louis's voice, excited and hopeful, from the woods to my left. "Over here!"

We all jogged over to see what it was he found, and came to a halt in front of an abandoned trailer squatting in the middle of a forest clearing, desolate and ominous.

"What the hell is this supposed to be, Louis?" Francis growled, resting his AA12 - which was, sadly, almost out of ammo - on his shoulder and glaring at the trailer in front of him.

Louis wordlessly pointed to a piece of graffiti scrawled in one of the windows. I bent in for a closer look, and my eyes widened.

_Jack,_

_We've gone to New Columbus. Meet us there - just follow the river south. They say it's completely free of infected, a city built just for immunes like us!_

_Love, Em_

"Well, shit," Francis said, face breaking into a grin. "Looks like we've finally found a clue!" Slapping Louis on the back hard enough to stumble the slim man forward a step, Francis boomed "Nice one, Lou!"

Louis grinned, and the two men slapped a high-five. I quirked an eyebrow at the pair, feeling my mouth tug up into a small smile. It was good to see that they had gotten over whatever it was that had kept them apart for so long. Now if only one of them would tell me what the hell the problem was in the first place.

"Okay, people," Bill said, slipping into the role of battlefield commander as easily as slipping into a new shirt, "Fan out. Look for nearby rivers, but for the love of God, stay within sight of the trailer. I'll stay here so I can keep a watch on all of you. Be sure to call out if you get attacked."

We all nodded, and headed our separate ways. I stalked off through the thick woods, trying to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible on the carpet of decaying leaves and pine needles that blanketed the ground.

I nearly jumped out of my skin when large, powerful hands rested lightly on my shoulders, and I was about to turn and shoot whatever it was when Francis's voice whispered in my ear "Hey, babe."

Turning around and glaring up at his huge, dark silhouette, I hissed "Francis, you idiot! You scared me out of my wits! I almost shot you!"

Francis merely shrugged and leaned in for a kiss, twining the fingers of his free hand with mine. I closed my eyes for a moment, then pulled away reluctantly and whispered "We should really be looking for that river…"

Francis brushed this away with a dismissive wave of his shotgun, purring "Ah, Louis can do that on his own for five minutes. We ain't had much time together since that night in the ranch house."

Letting my rifle fall from my fingers, I reached up and encircled Francis's neck with my arms, pulling him down for another kiss. He put his hands on my sides, pulling me even tighter against him as we exchanged wordless passions with our lips.

And then we were suddenly interrupted as Louis screamed "Oh, shit! Shit!"

Francis broke away from me and turned, snarling curses and impolite comments about Louis's parentage, and was about to shout a reply when gunfire broke out, shattering the night stillness with its staccato roar.


	19. The River

Francis was off like a shot, moving at a dead sprint through the woods as I bent to retrieve my fallen AUG, nearly out of ammo just like Francis's precious shotgun. Starting off after him, I caught a glimpse of frenzied movement out of the corner of my eye and whirled, gun up and tracking from sheer instinct.

That instinct saved my life. The hunter came hurtling from the depths of the forest with a screech, bloodstained claws extended, feral eyes glimmering in the shadow of its hood. I ducked out of the way just in time, following up with a kick to the hunter's face as it landed and turned to follow me. It stumbled backwards, and I splattered its brains across the trunk of a tree.

Turning, I watched in horror as Louis came hurtling through the air, striking a tree with what must have been incredibly painful force. I could hear something crack from across the clearing - whether it was from the tree or Louis I couldn't tell, but I prayed it was the former. Then a tank followed him out of the woods, roaring and bellowing with wrath, its huge arms pulverizing any foliage unlucky enough to get in its way.

With a curse, I put on a burst of speed, sprinting over and sliding to a halt in the grass next to Louis's prone form. I rolled him over onto his back, my heart pounding in my chest, and let loose the breath I'd been holding as he tried to struggle to his feet. I helped him along the way, then turned to aid the rest of the group. Francis was jogging backwards with the tank in pursuit, slamming a new clip - with a jolt, I realized it was his last - into the AA12. Bill was running along behind and to the side, unloading with his rifle.

Then Francis cut loose, and I recoiled slightly as blood and shards of bone exploded from the tank's back. The buckshot barrage tore through the lumbering monstrosity, and it collapsed forward, its feral roars trailing off into a grumbling sigh.

With a distraught look, Francis extracted the round magazine from his formidable weapon, gazing into the empty drum and then down at his apparent lack of any spares. Heaving a sigh, he placed a tender kiss on the barrel of the AA12, then set it down gently next to its last kill. Straightening, Francis turned and walked towards Louis and me, smiling sadly.

"Gonna miss that thing," he said, then rolled his shoulders and stretched.

"It sure as hell came in handy," Bill admitted, slamming a new clip into the newer-model M16 he'd picked up back at the 'safe' zone. Working the bolt, he turned to spit out his cigarette - it had burned down to an apparently useless stub - and reached into his pocket for another. Fishing out the small cardboard box, the 'Nam vet swore at the rapidly dwindling number of cancer sticks in his possession, then extracted one and placed it between his lips.

As Bill lit the cigarette, Francis turned toward me and whispered "You okay, babe?" I nodded, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I'm fine," I said, and Francis turned away, satisfied.

Then all eyes turned toward Louis, who was doubled over, clutching at his chest and breathing through clenched teeth. Pocketing his lighter and walking over, Bill said "Here, son, let me have a look at you," and busied himself carefully inspecting Louis's injuries.

-O-

_It had all been going so well, too…_ I reflected, as my face was slammed into the ground. I spat dirt and grass from my mouth, wriggling beneath the hunter's iron grip, but to no avail. Claws dug into my back, and I let out an involuntary gasp from the pain. The horde howled all around, and I could hear the chatter of gunfire over the screeches of the hunter atop me. My left arm was pinned beneath me at an awkward angle, but my right was free, and with it I started scrabbling for my handgun. As the hunter's claws tore at my back, I thanked my lucky stars for the heavy jacket I'd picked up to ward away the chill. The thick, sheepskin-lined garment afforded some protection from the rending talons.

Snatching up my pistol at last, I fired it blindly over my shoulder, emptying half the clip before I heard a yelp of pain interrupt the hunter's snarls and howls. Putting the rest of the clip into my would-be killer, I was forced back to the ground as the hunter's limp form slumped over on top of me. All the muscle required to propel it on its huge leaps made it heavier than one would assume.

Rolling over onto my back and shoving the hooded corpse off of me, I scrambled unsteadily to my feet, retrieving my second pistol from where it lay. We had found the river, and followed it until we came to an overpass. A car had crashed through the railing and landed in the water below, and when a stray bullet had nicked it we had discovered that somehow its alarm was still functional.

Then, while the rest of the group had been occupied with the zombies swarming from the woods, the hunter had pounced me. Snarling imprecations about the hooded zombie's parentage, I gave it a savage kick for good measure before turning and blasting away two-handed at the horde.

I turned to look as I heard Francis utter a strangled oath, just in time to see his boots disappear into the foliage. Cursing, I charged after him, swatting aside the branches and ferns that got in my way. I practically tripped over him, and let out a little gasp as I took in his condition.

A smoker had gotten him, as I'd suspected, and its long, slimy tongue was wrapped around his torso, pinning one arm to his chest. It had also, however, snaked up and around his throat, and he was tugging at it with his free hand, but it was clear that if this kept up he would surely suffocate. Fortunately, he had become stuck against the trunk of a tree, and the tongue could not pull him any farther away.

Taking aim, I put a bullet through the tongue, severing the rubbery appendage cleanly. Bending down, I helped Francis unwind the smoker's tongue from around himself, then took his hand in both of mine and hauled him to his feet. Grimacing, he gingerly rubbed at his side, then gave me what was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile and retrieved the axe he'd recently scavenged. It was hardly a match for the AA12 he'd lost, but it was better than bare fists by a long shot.

Turning, he cleanly lopped the head from a charging zombie, then shooed me out of the woods, following after and keeping the zombies at bay with flashing steel. As I emerged from the bushes, I saw to my relief that the bulk of the horde lay dead, scattered through the river and along the banks. Splashing down into the water, I clenched my teeth against the bitter cold, suppressing a shiver. Now was hardly the time to be shy about a little cold water.

-O-

As the last zombie fell, and the staccato chatter of gunfire died away, Bill came up and said "We should be getting close by now… everyone keep your eyes peeled. Look for signs, road marks, anything." Francis, the pain he was in rendering his temper even shorter than usual, growled "We know, old man. We all know you always wanted to be a nanny, but find other people to babysit."

Bill shot Francis a venomous glare, but said nothing, merely growling low in his throat and turning away. I gave the big biker a reproving look, and he managed a small smile for my benefit. We had used the last of our first aid supplies on Louis, but I still had some pain pills, which I proffered to him. Taking the bottle gratefully, Francis popped the cap off, shook out a few pills and dry-swallowed them, then replaced the lid and handed it back. I pocketed the bottle, then turned to follow as Bill and Louis started off again.

But then I stopped as a noise caught my attention. "Uh… guys?" I said, looking around. "Does anyone else hear that?"

The rest of the group stopped, and all three men started looking around. My eyes, however, were fixed skyward, as the noise grew louder. "Holy shit," I breathed, and everyone else finally seemed to realize what the sound was as well. "Is that…?" Francis said, but he didn't have time to finish his sentence before a trio of military attack helicopters roared over the horizon.

"Shit!" Bill yelled, and dove for cover as the gatling guns mounted on the helicopter's sleek prows opened up. The chattering howl obliterated all other sounds in the valley, and Francis slammed into me in a full-body tackle, trying to get me out of the line of fire.

The river was just deep enough to completely submerge me, and I involuntarily gasped at the bone-numbing chill of it. Since my head was under, however, I only succeeded in getting a mouthful of icy, murky water in my lungs.

I broke the surface spluttering and coughing, and looked up once my lungs were sufficiently free of liquid. Then I narrowed my eyes in confusion. The helicopters weren't shooting at us - in fact, it was doubtful whether or not they even knew we were here. Their real target was a crowd of infected on the crest of the high riverbank opposite them.

"Nobody move!" Bill yelled, and I complied, sitting as still as my shivering would allow in the frigid water. At last, the roar of the helicopters' weapons died away, and they banked sharply, flying directly overhead before turning and disappearing over the horizon from which they had come.


	20. Purgation: Part 1

"Ho ho, shit!" Louis yelled, punching the air. "You see that? _Army helicopters!_ Big birds like that ain't gonna fly far on the amount of gas to be had around here, and that means they still got a safe zone somewhere nearby!"

Francis glowered at the horizon where the helicopters disappeared, folding his powerful arms over his chest. "You see what was stenciled onto their sides, Louis?" he growled, and the thin black man turned to look at him, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

"No, Francis," he said, arms akimbo, "I was a bit busy diving for cover."

"They all had 'PURGE' written on 'em, same as the jeep in that piece of shit 'safe zone'," Francis said, brows drawing down even further. "Now, I don't know what the hell 'PURGE' means, but it sure as shit gives me bad feelings. I don't want to charge in blindly, waving our arms and shouting 'Hey! Survivors here!' only to get gunned down."

Louis snorted. "Come on man, they ain't gonna shoot us. The army's job is to protect people!"

"In case you hadn't noticed, Mister Positive," Francis snarled, taking a step towards the younger man, "We're in the middle of a _zombie apocalypse!_ The rulebook has gone out the window, and I seriously doubt Good Samaritan Joe would have any compunctions about shooting you if he thought you might turn into a zombie or steal his shit! And besides - for all we know, these 'PURGE' assholes might not even be _with_ the army! They could be just a bunch of whackjobs who stole some fancy gear from a base somewhere!"

Louis held up his hands in a placating gesture, and said "Whoa there, man. I know it sounds crazy, but I got a good feelin' about this! Something's gotta break our way sometime! Look, you really think that a bunch of civilians could find _one_ guy who knows how to fly a helicopter like that, let alone _three?_"

Francis growled wordlessly, taking a few steps toward the riverbank, kicking up frigid water with each step. "Hey man, look," Louis said, jogging to catch up with the big biker and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just go take a look, okay? Shit starts goin' down, we high-tail it outta there. Deal?"

Looking over at his compatriot, Francis heaved a sigh and muttered "Deal."

-O-

"Holy shit," I breathed as we crested the hill. The bridge that had crossed the river ahead of us continued as a road for about fifty yards, then ended in a ten-foot concrete wall, topped with razor-wire. A reinforced chain-link gate blocked the gap in the wall that the road passed through, and the baleful eye of a searchlight swept the area.

"Well, that sure as hell doesn't look inviting," Bill muttered, narrowing his eyes at the imposing concrete barrier. It was maybe a few hundred yards across, then turned at right angles and went back away from us. I couldn't see it, but I assumed there was a fourth wall at the other end, forming a box.

"Think about it, guys," Louis said, starting towards the wall. "Everybody needs a wall to keep out zombies, right?"

"I'm not sure…" I said, taking a firmer hold on my pistol. "It does look a bit… menacing."

Louis waved this comment away, and kept walking, ignoring Francis's low warning growl. The big biker took a step forward, but I put a placating hand on his arm, and whispered "Leave it," when he gave me a surprised glance. Francis shrugged, and muttered "Whatever."

-O-

"Hey!" Louis yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth. "There's survivors out here! We're not infected! Let us in!"

"Might as well paint some goddamn bull's-eyes on our foreheads and be done with it," Francis muttered darkly, earning a glare from Bill. "Son, we don't have a lot of options, so unless you feel like walking another five miles along that riverbed, shut up," the 'Nam vet shot back, and Francis fell into a sulky silence. Bill was obviously right - we _were _running out of options.

In a matter of seconds, the searchlight that swept the area had locked onto us, and I flinched, shielding my eyes from the harsh glare. A warning klaxon started blaring, and Francis threw up his hands in disgust. "See, Louis! What the hell did I tell-…"

He was, however, cut off by the roar of an engine as a black humvee roared up on the other side of the gate, its hood and side doors bearing the word 'PURGE' stenciled on them in red, just like the humvee back at the abandoned safe zone. The lethal muzzle of an M60 swept our group from the turret mount atop the imposing vehicle, although I couldn't see who was manning the gun, as they were silhouetted in the searchlight's glare. A cold, powerful man's voice, amplified by a loudspeaker, boomed out towards us. "**Identify yourselves immediately, or you will be shot!**"

Bill, as the ad-hoc leader of the group, stepped forward. Clearing his throat, he snapped into an only slightly lopsided parade rest, and barked in his best army voice "Sergeant William Overbeck, sir! These are my companions, Francis, Zoey and Louis, all civilians from Pennsylvania! We seek shelter in your camp, sir!"

The searchlight dimmed, and the passenger door of the humvee popped open. Out of the vehicle slid a tall man in black military fatigues, his jacket bearing the word 'PURGE' on the left side of his chest. He wore a military-style ballcap tilted at a slight angle on his head, and a gas mask hid his face from view.

Walking up to the gate, the man clasped his arms behind his back and stood with his feet apart, shoulders straight and chest out, raking our group with his gaze. "Sergeant Overbeck," he said, voice weirdly muffled and distorted by the gasmask, his gaze stopping on Bill, "This is not a refugee camp. You have stumbled upon the headquarters of PURGE. We are dedicated to expunging the taint that-…" He paused, his eyes narrowing. "You're not wearing gas masks," he said, voice gone low and sharp. "Are you…?"

"We're immune, yes," Bill said, nodding authoritatively, then added as an afterthought "Sir."

The other soldier's face contorted into a snarl of rage, and he hissed "Carriers." Turning on his heel, he took two long strides towards the humvee and snarled "Johnson - take them."

-O-

Bill reacted first, leaping to the side surprisingly fast for a man of his age, grabbing me around the waist and taking me with him. As I fell, I saw Francis grab Louis and hurl him out of harm's way, then dive after him as the M60 mounted atop the humvee burst into life.

With a chattering roar, the muzzle of the huge weapon spat flame, and the ground around the gate exploded, the impacts of high-caliber bullets tearing huge gouts of dirt and grass from the earth. I crawled further behind the shelter of the concrete wall on my hands and knees, heart thudding against my ribcage, mind reeling. Not ten seconds ago, things had been looking up, and now we were being shot at by the very people who we thought were going to save us.

Turning as I reached relative safety, I saw Francis and Louis huddled on the other side of the gate, both thankfully uninjured. A storm of bullets tore at the ground between us, and I ached to see the look of panic in Francis's eyes as he stared at me across that lethal barrier.

"Zoey, come on!" Bill yelled, tugging at my arm and trying to haul me to my feet. "We gotta move! We'll meet up with them once we get to safety!" Struggling to my feet, I shot one last, terrified glance over my shoulder, then grimly swallowed my fear and took off after Bill.

I heard the howl of helicopter engines, and icy weights wrapped themselves around my heart. There was no way we could get away from attack helicopters on foot. The ground blurred beneath my pounding feet, and I fumbled with the slide on my pistol as I ran. It was silly, really - a Colt .45 wasn't going to do much against a helicopter - but I wasn't about to lay down and die without putting up a fight.

My eye was caught by a small culvert in the base of the wall, and I yelled "Bill!" He turned to look, and I wordlessly pointed. The old vet followed my pointing finger, then his eyes narrowed in thought. After a bare second, he nodded, and started towards the culvert at a run.

I skidded to a halt next to the low opening, and I began to have my doubts about whether or not this was actually a good idea. The arched culvert seemed smaller up close, and a flicker of doubt slithered through my mind. Would I really be able to fit in there?

Then my jaw set. I would have to fit. Getting down on my hands and knees, I half-crawled, half-slid into the opening, having to press myself low to the ground to fit under the arch. Frigid, muddy water that smelled faintly of sewage sucked at my hands, arms and legs as I slithered deeper into the culvert, and I heard Bill cursing under his breath as he followed me. The whine of the helicopter engines suddenly intensified, and I tried not to breathe as a searchlight swept the ground outside.

I could feel Bill pressed tightly against me, trying to squeeze further away from the helicopters outside, but I could go no farther - I was pressed up against a rusty, slick metal grate, my shoulder beginning to ache from the cramped position. My heart felt like it was about to explode from my chest, and I thought it a miracle that the soldiers outside couldn't hear it hammering away within my chest.

After what felt like an eternity, the engines moved off, the searchlight vanished, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. I could hear Bill heave a sigh from behind me, and he said "That was too damn close. Much as I hate to give him credit for anything, looks like Francis was right for once." I giggled nervously, then took a deep breath to steady myself. My hands were shaking so badly that they were making little splashes in the muck that I lay in, and I clenched them into fists to try and stop them jittering.

After a minute or so, Bill said "Should be safe by now. We gotta get out of here, regroup with Francis and Louis, and keep moving. Find this 'immune city' we heard about, if it even exists."

Taking another deep, long breath, I finally nodded and, having managed to get my voice under control, said "Yeah. Lead the way, Bill."


	21. Purgation: Part 2

After crawling - more like slithering, given the profusion of muck and filth therein - out of the culvert, Bill and I crept back to the gate as stealthily as possible. The ground was riddled with pockmarks where the M60 mounted atop the humvee had torn up the dirt, but there was no sign of either Francis or Louis.

Hardly surprising, honestly. Common sense dictated that they had to have hid somewhere, or they'd be dead now. My heart froze as other possibilities snuck unbidden into my head - maybe they _had_ been killed, or worse, maybe they'd been captured and hauled back into the base for some insidious purpose.

_No,_ I sternly reminded myself, _These people would have no use for prisoners. They're just trying to eradicate all traces of the infection, so Francis and Louis would have just been shot, and then their bodies would probably have been burned._

Although that wasn't very reassuring either. Trying very hard not to think about Francis's body lying in the bottom of an unmarked ditch, I pressed my back against the wall and mouthed to Bill "What do we do now?"

"Now," he whispered back, "We wait."

-O-

As it turned out, we didn't have long to wait. After no more than five minutes - although to be honest, it felt more like five hours - I caught sight of two dark shapes creeping towards us, crouched low in the shadow of the wall. A lump of ice that had been constricting my heart melted in a flash, and I breathed a long sigh of relief. They were alive.

As Francis and Louis halted on the other side of the gate from us, I drank in the sight of the biker across from me greedily. Standing on the precipice and staring down into the endless void yawning open before me - as I had just done - always instilled within me an aching desire to cling desperately to life and all it entailed. And right now, with the world gone to shit and even other uninfected humans trying to kill us, all life entailed was me and my love for Francis.

But, no matter how much I longed to fling myself into his arms, the chain-link gate of the PURGE base separated us, a deadly gap that neither of us could cross, invisible and intangible yet impenetrable.

Bill and Louis were frantically trying to communicate with hand signals, and by the looks of it, having only mixed success. I locked eyes with Francis, and he looked like he was about to make a move when the chain-link gate started rattling open.

"Shit!" I hissed, leaping backwards. Bill did likewise beside me, and we both scurried backwards across the ground. My gaze flashed around, desperately seeking a glimpse of the other half of our group, yet Francis and Louis were gone, melted into the shadows. Bill grabbed me by the collar and hauled me backwards, standing me up and pressing me against the wall. I squeezed against it, fervently wishing to be elsewhere.

After the gate had swung fully open, a black humvee identical to the one that had almost spelled our doom earlier rolled out, full of soldiers dressed identically to the one we had briefly spoken to. The turret-mounted M60 raked the hill leading down to the river, and I swallowed hard, trying with all my might to sink into the wall and disappear.

As the humvee ground past and rolled away along the crest of the hill, its turret sweeping back and forth, I caught a snippet of muffled conversation. "…gotta be around here somewhere…"

_Oh, hell._ My heart almost skipped a beat. _They're still looking for us._ Then I stopped myself, taking a deep breath and calming myself. _One thing at a time, girl. First we get out of here, then we can worry about the soldiers chasing us._

Eventually, Bill and Louis seemed to come to some sort of resolution, as Bill gave me a gentle push and whispered "Back down to the river, Zoey." Casting a nervous glance at the still-open gate, I hunkered down and started off at a crouching run for the hill.

-O-

Once I skidded to a splashing halt in the ankle-deep, frigid water near the edge of the river, I turned to look as the other three followed me down. Francis slid to a stop next to me, splattering my legs with icy water, and pulled me in for a brief hug. Pressed against his chest, I could feel his heart racing as fast as mine.

We tore ourselves apart as Bill cleared his throat from behind us, and turned to look as the 'Nam vet pointed down the river, in the direction we had been going. "Well, that was a total bust," he said, sweeping the group with his glance. "Looks like our only choice is to keep looking for that 'immune city' place we-…"

"Lieutenant! Down there!"

_Oh, shit._

Gunfire shattered the relative silence, and bullets hissed around us. I jumped involuntarily as one threw up an explosion of water not ten inches from me, and we took off down the river. Louis was ducking low and shielding his head with his hands, Bill was taking occasional potshots with his rifle, and Francis just tried to keep between me and the half-seen assailants atop the riverbank.

Suddenly, Bill cursed and went down, face-first into the icy river. My heart lurched as a saw a crimson stain spreading outwards from his leg, turning the water into a scarlet fog. Francis skidded to a halt, flinching away as bullets slapped into the water all around him, and charged back as Bill started painfully hauling himself up out of the water.

"Damn it, no! Get the hell out of here!" Bill yelled, but Francis ignored him. Grabbing the older man, the big biker threw him irreverently over his shoulders, and took off.

Once in the relative shelter of the overhanging bridge, we paused to take a breather. Francis set Bill down gently on the riverbank, and Louis bent to inspect the wound. The constant chatter of gunfire had ceased, but I knew the soldiers from PURGE were still up there, watching, waiting.

Francis's voice broke me from my thoughts. "I was sure we were going to die out there. When those helicopters popper over the wall…" he broke off, and there was a long moment of silence before he added "I was sure _you_ were going to die. And I was terrified. I felt so goddamn powerless… zombies I can shield you from, but helicopters? Sitting there in the shadow of the wall, waiting for a spotlight to find me, waiting for the bullets to start flying… I couldn't do anything, and it scared the hell out of me."

I blinked, surprised. It was a moment before I turned around, and when I locked eyes with Francis I saw fear in those chestnut orbs. Taking two long strides forward, I enveloped him in my arms, resting my cheek against his powerful chest. "Francis…" I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, "It's okay. You don't have to shield me every single time. I love you, and I know you love me too, but you can't keep throwing yourself in front of danger just to protect me. I'm a big girl, I can handle myself."

Francis blew out a long sigh, and I felt his chest deflate a little with the expelled air. "I know," he said, so softly I had to strain to hear it. "Goddamn it, I know, but… all this shit with my family, with Nicky and Max… I failed them. I should have tried harder to keep the relationship working with Nicky, should have been home more often… I should have taken action the moment I heard about the Green Flu, gone out and found Max, kept him safe…" I felt a single, solitary tear land atop my head, and Francis finished "I lost both of them, and I cannot, _can not_ lose you too."

I didn't trust my voice just then, so instead I just moved my arms from his chest to his neck, strained up, and kissed him. At first he seemed somewhat surprised, but after a mere second he wrapped his arms around me, his lips melting onto mine. I realized he was crying, and held him tighter against me, wanting more than anything to somehow heal those old wounds, to make the pain go away, the memories stop haunting him.

But we just didn't have the time for such things. So I pulled away, murmuring comfort and apologies, and turned to survey the situation. Bill's leg had been bandaged, and Louis was helping him to his feet. I could hear the engine of a jeep idling somewhere nearby, and mentally cursed whatever crazy son of a bitch had founded PURGE. To survive a _zombie apocalypse_ and then get killed by _other humans…_ ugh.

"Alright, ladies," Bill said, hobbling towards us. "Team huddle. We gotta get out of here."

"Yeah, no shit," Francis muttered, coming up behind me, but Bill paid him no heed.

Suddenly, a thought floated through my brain, the first shadow of an idea. It terrified me to even think about it… but it might just be our only chance. "I can't believe I'm about to suggest this…" I said, then took a deep breath and began.

"What we need is a distraction," I said, and all three men shot me looks in various shades of worried or skeptical. "The bigger the distraction, the better. These guys seem to have no love for anything infected, so…" I broke off, not entirely sure I even wanted to say it. I felt Francis put a hand on my shoulder and squeeze, as if saying 'go on'. So I did. "So, why don't we call some infected to distract these assholes?"

A light came on behind Bill's eyes, and he slowly started to smile. "Zoey," he said, rubbing a hand through his thick grey beard, "I think you're a genius."

Louis, however, had a worried frown on his face. "With all of these helicopters and shit flying around, I think all the infected within hearing distance would have been summoned by now."

"Well then," I said, and smiled to myself, "We'll just have to get creative."

-O-

"Zoey," Louis whispered from his place crouching beside me, "This is either the smartest or the dumbest thing I have ever done."

"Yeah, tell me about it," I shot back, fingers slick on the grip of my pistol. Francis, of course, had volunteered for the job of attracting as many infected as possible. If his performance back during our escape from Fairfield was any indicator, it was a job right up his alley.

Surprisingly for a man of his bulk, he had managed to sneak out and over the far riverbank without alerting the PURGE soldiers sweeping the area, and had long ago disappeared from view with the group's last remaining pipe bomb. It was practically a suicide mission, but I knew that he wouldn't back down from it. He was never a man to resist a challenge, especially when our lives - well, to be honest, _my _life - were in danger.

Just as I was considering going out after Francis, I heard a faint, repetitive beeping, just on the edge of my hearing. My heart leapt into my throat, and I crept forward a step as the beeping slowly grew louder. And louder.

Not more than a few seconds later, Francis came charging over the riverbank, running full-out, with the pipe bomb - unlit - clutched in one of his hands. Pulling back his arm, he threw it with all his might in the direction of the PURGE camp, then dove towards us, landing in an awkward, sliding roll next to me. I had just managed to grab him and haul him the rest of the way under the bridge when his pursuers crested the bank.

There must have been a hundred of them. They came pouring down the slope in a tide of rotting flesh and gaping jaws, howling and snarling. I frantically crawled backwards to get away from the stampede, and only once they had all passed safely by did I dare to stick my head out from under the bridge.

I could hear gunfire, cursing and the bellows of the infected from the other side of the river, so I motioned the others to follow me. It was time to get the hell out of there.


	22. My Guardian Angel

**At long, long last it is here! The final chapter of Guardian! I am so, so sorry about making all of you wait this long for it, but my life has been rife with challenges and adjustments, as I moved off to college and various other problems I mentioned in the first chapter of L4D Brawls.**

**Anyway. I'd just like to extend a **_**huge**_** thank-you to all those who've bothered to read this and **_**especially**_** those who've left a review. I love all of you, and seeing all of your reviews has been fantastic. It's been one hell of a ride, and at several points I honestly had no idea where this story was going, but here we are. The final chapter. I hope you're all ready, and remember to keep your hands, arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times.**

**-O-**

"Shit! Shit!" Francis cursed beside me as he half-ran, half-slid down the muddy slope. I could still hear gunfire behind me, and when I glanced behind me the horizon was stained a frightening red-orange. _So the sons of bitches managed to set their own camp on fire. Good._

My calves were burning, but I forced myself to keep running, my heart thudding in my chest and my breath coming in gasps. After surviving a zombie apocalypse, I was in pretty damn good shape, but the past few days of constant strife and little sleep had worn me down. I could hear Francis panting beside me as he ran, and I knew Bill and Louis couldn't have been much better off.

Casting another glance over my shoulder, I saw our two companions coming down the hill after us, Louis helping the wounded 'Nam vet along. My heart roared in my ears, and every second I expected an attack helicopter or a humvee to crest the hill and open up, the large-caliber bullets tearing us apart like cheese through a grater.

_No,_ I sternly told myself. _Quit thinking like that. You're going to make it out of this. You all are._

The ground was leveling out in front of us, a broad swath of pine trees beckoning, the promise of relative safety evident in their enveloping branches. Just a little farther. Just a little-…

"_Son of a bitch!_" Bill yelled. "_Incoming!_"

I whirled at his shout, and my blood turned to ice in my veins. Charging down the hill at us, bellowing and shaking the ground as it came, was a Tank.

I scrabbled for a weapon, but came up with nothing. Apparently I'd lost my pistol in the frantic escape from the river.

_No. No, no, no, no. Not like this._ My mind raced frantically, and I took a few steps backward, fear clutching at my heart. I heard Bill's assault rifle open up, but the Tank hardly slowed as it was peppered with bullets. Louis started taking potshots with his pistol, but Bill shoved him toward the rest of us, planting his feet and taking more careful aim.

My eyes widened involuntarily. I could see it in the look on his face, in the fell gleam in his eyes - Bill was going to sacrifice himself to save us. Over the course of the infection, he had become like a father to me, although he could never truly replace the one I'd had before. And now… now he was going to kill himself to save me.

Hot trails of moisture stung my cheeks, and I started forward at a sprint towards the old vet. First Francis, and now Bill. I'd had enough of people throwing themselves in harm's way to protect me. I wasn't going to let myself be the damsel in distress anymore. That was the old me. Time to show everyone the new me.

The ground was slipperier than I thought, and I almost careened into Bill as I skidded to a halt. "_Come on!_" I screamed over the roar of his assault rifle, grabbing him by the arm and hauling.

"Goddamn it, Zoey!" Bill yelled back, sparing a glance from the Tank bearing down on him to look at me. "Just get the hell out of-…"

The Tank was no more than thirty feet from us, and I didn't have time for this bullshit. Pulling back a fist, I did something I never, ever thought I would do - I slugged Bill across the jaw.

Now, I have never lifted weights in my life, and didn't have the strength or the training to land a decent punch. But the blow sure as hell startled him, and got my point across. "Come with me, or I'm staying with you," I snarled in a voice far more dangerous and authoritative than I ever thought I could pull off, and Bill obliged.

Together, we tore back across the muddy grass towards where Francis and Louis were standing. Louis was shooting with his pistol, and Francis, bereft of weapons, just stood there looking stricken and indecisive. "_Run!_" I yelled, and both of them turned and pelted into the woods, Bill and I hot on their heels.

-O-

"It's still following us!" Louis yelled from somewhere ahead of me. I couldn't see more than five feet in this prison of clutching branches, and for a moment I wondered whether or not coming in here was a good idea. Pine needles pricked at my skin and caught in my clothes, and several times I almost tripped on some unseen obstacle.

Then I exploded from the trees into a large clearing littered with the stumps of felled trees. A cabin of some sort squatted in the middle of it, and ahead of me I could see Francis break into a sprint, his huge arms pumping as he tore across the mat of pine needles. I didn't have time to search for whatever it was that had caught his attention, however, as the tank burst from the trees behind us, roaring in triumph as it caught sight of its prey.

My lungs burned, every inch of my body ached, and my heart seemed as if it was about to explode from my chest, but I brutally forced myself to keep going. I wasn't sure I even _could_ stop - my legs had acquired a rhythm all their own, pounding the needles underfoot almost without my conscious control.

Then my foot caught on a tree stump and I pitched forward with a startled yelp. The pine needles made for a soft landing, but my body screamed in protest as I started trying to haul myself to my feet. Bill was standing next to me protectively, cutting loose with his rifle again, and I managed to croak "_Move_, old man!"

He spared me a startled glance, then his jaw hardened and he shook his head. Not a fool, he could tell that I wouldn't be going anywhere any time soon, and was apparently determined to make his final stand watching over me.

Screw final stands.

Summoning up some inner reserve of strength I didn't know I had, I pushed myself to my feet, took two shaky steps towards Bill, planted my hands on his shoulders and shoved. "_GO!_" I screamed, my voice raw and hoarse. Bill staggered backwards, conflicting emotions running rampant across his grizzled countenance. Then something connected with my back with roughly the force of a runaway semi truck.

I hit the ground awkwardly, bouncing and rolling to a halt amidst the tree stumps and managing not to slam into any of them, thank god. My head spun, my back felt like it had been used as a trampoline by a herd of elephants, and I felt like I was going to be sick. Spitting pine needles, I managed to crawl forward a few inches on my stomach, then rolled over onto my back, wincing as the abused flesh came into contact with the ground.

I could see the tank charging towards me, coming to finish the job. Bill was chasing after it, holding his assault rifle like a club. Apparently he'd run out of bullets. The tank bore down upon me like all four horsemen of the Apocalypse, and I feebly tried to crawl backwards away from it. It loomed huge in my vision, blotting out the thin, feeble moon, and I raised my hands in a pathetic, reflexive attempt to shield myself.

Then something else filled my vision, something large and menacing but definitely human. My own personal guardian angel appeared from nowhere, skidding to a halt in the pine needles and hefting a wood-chipping axe like a Viking battleaxe. "Francis…" I breathed, my heart nearly stopping.

"Come on, bitch," Francis growled as the tank neared him. "To get to her, you go through me."

Hot tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them away. How had this happened? I was supposed to be the hero here, dammit. And now here was Francis, throwing his life away for me again. The tank raised its huge fists over its head as it approached, a bellow of rage escaping its throat.

Then Bill swung his rifle, catching the tank right in the back of the knee. Overbalanced with its hands up in the air, the muscle-bound monstrosity pitched forwards, and Francis had to leap backwards to avoid being crushed. The tank got its massive arms beneath it, and started to push itself to its feet, just as Francis's axe whistled downward like a thunderbolt from the heavens.

Five pounds of steel and almost three-hundred more of pissed-off muscle propelled the honed blade downward with the force of a thunderbolt, biting into the tank's deformed skull and cleaving straight through it. The axe head lodged in the tank's chest, and the huge beast slumped back to the ground again, its roar trailing off into a grumbling sigh.

For a long moment I just lay there unmoving, staring at the huge beast that had come so close to ending my life. Then Francis abandoned his axe and knelt beside me, wrapping one powerful arm around my shoulders. "Can you stand?" he murmured, and I shook my head wordlessly, still dumbstruck. At that point, I didn't think I could move at all.

Leaning in and planting a tender kiss on my forehead, his rough goatee scratching at my eyebrows, he snaked his other arm under my knees and hoisted me from the ground. The feminine part of my brain swooned a little - I was pretty skinny, especially after running from zombies for more than three weeks, but I still weighed a good hundred-and-twenty pounds, and Francis hefted me with casual ease.

My eyelids felt leaden, the throbbing ache in my back nearly overpowering me. God, but I was _tired_. "Zoey!" I heard Bill yell, and I managed to roll my head a little to the side to look at him. Trying to put on a smile, I muttered "I'm gonna be fine, Bill," and then rested my head on Francis's chest once more.

"Where's Louis?" Francis suddenly asked, and a spike of fear drove itself through my fogged brain. Had he been attacked while we were fighting the tank? Had a hunter got him while we were distracted?

No sooner had these panicked thoughts flitted through my brain, however, than I heard Louis's voice. "They're over here, ma'am!"

I blinked, my weary brain attempting to make sense of what it had just heard. Who had Louis been talking to? Certainly not anyone from PURGE, they would have just shot him on sight.

Francis turned to look, and inadvertently jostled my wounded back. I must have whimpered or made some noise because Francis instantly looked down at me with an expression of worry verging on panic. "You okay, babe?" he murmured, and I managed to give him a smile and a weak nod.

Then I heard a woman's voice, strong and confident. "Holy hell! You said they were being attacked by a tank, not murdering it!"

Tearing my gaze from the biker holding me, I looked in the direction the voices had come from, and my eyes fell upon four people, two men and two women, following Louis out of the woods. The woman in the lead wore a tattered and stained police uniform, complete with a bulletproof vest and combat boots, and with the addition of elbow-length leather bracers and a leather gorget around her neck. Her mid-length fiery-red hair was pulled back in a ponytail behind her head, and her eyes glittered with life and intelligence.

Louis was grinning unabashedly, and at the policewoman's comment his smile only grew wider. "With these three, ma'am, it's almost the same thing," he said, and I felt a smile of my own start tugging at my cheeks.

Bill stepped forward to intercept the newcomers, but paused before he could introduce himself. "Where the hell did you run off to, Louis?" he asked, planting his fists on his hips.

Louis looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well, you see… a smoker grabbed me while you three were fighting the tank, and dragged me into the woods. I would have died if these four hadn't stumbled across me. I told them about you and brought them back here to save you, but… well, I see that you did just fine by yourselves."

Turning away from his companion, Bill extended a hand to the policewoman, his face breaking out into a smile. "Sergeant William Overbeck at your service, ma'am," he said, and the policewoman took his hand and shook it. "Captain Emily Watson, at yours," she said. "My group and I were out on patrol when your friend bumped into us.

"Out on patrol? From where?" Francis asked, and Captain Watson spared a glance his way.

"Why, New Columbus, of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The immune city? You haven't heard of us?"

I looked up at Francis, and he met my gaze, a grin spreading across his normally dour features. "Did you hear that, babe?" he murmured, eyes glimmering. "The immune city! We've found it! Goddamn, but Louis was right! We're finally _safe!_"

I felt myself grinning back, and snuggled deeper into Francis's broad chest. "With you around, Francis," I murmured, letting my eyes fall closed, "I've always been safe."


End file.
